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DR THORNE’S 
IDEA 


BY JOHN AMES MITCHELL 


The Pines of Lory 
Dr. Thorne’s Idea 


GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY 
NEW YORK 



THE POCKET BOOKS 

DR. THORNE’S 
IDEA 

Originally Published as “Gloria Victis’’ 

By JOHN AMES MITCHELL 




GEORG] 

E H. DORAN COMPANY 

NEW YORK 





3 


Copyrighfy rqro 
By John Ames Mitchell 




■7 


?. 

TMs iale^ in its criginal ferm^ 
was published in iSgg as Gloria 
Viciis, 

With the addition of certain 
passages and the revision of 
others — a belated duty to Ste- 
phen Wadsworth — the book is 
now presented under a clearer 
title. 


They sayy best men are mottlded out of faults. 

■ MsASVRS FOIt 


Dr THORNE’S 
IDEA 


I 

O N Staten Island, in the garden before a 
modest cottage, a plump, sunburnt little 
girl was sitting among the flowers. 

Her companion, a doll of uncertain character, 
whose champagne tresses and gaudy attire betokened 
a career of Gallic levity, or, at the very best, a 
purely fashionable existence, appeared strikingly 
out of harmony with her humble surroundings. 
This pretentious effigy, face down across her guard- 
ian's lap, was about to receive the punishment we 
associate with that attitude, when a voice from the 
road caused the uplifted hand to pause in its de- 
scent. A horse and buggy had stopped before the 
gate, and the driver repeated his question. 

** Does Mrs. Zabarelli live here ? ” 

“ Yes, sir, but she's not at home." 

** You expect her soon, don't you? " 

“ Yes, sir, I guess so. At one o'clock." 

The man climbed down from the vehicle, hitched 

9 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

his horse, and entered the yard. He wore a long 
linen duster buttoned from his throat to his ankles, 
leaving nothing of the other raiment visible except 
a white collar, the tips of his trousers, a straw hat, 
and a pair of russet shoes. His hair was gray, al- 
most white, hanging thick about his ears; and he 
was very round-shouldered. Judging from appear- 
ances he might have been either forty-five or sixty 
years of age, his hair and figure seeming more ven- 
erable than his face. He was clean shaven, with 
thin lips, a rather sharp nose, and a strong jaw. Al- 
together he gave the impression of a conservative, 
indefinable citizen, who could have passed for any- 
thing from a book agent to the president of a trust 
company. 

The child had struggled to her feet, and, as she 
stood regarding him, he stopped in front of her, 
looked down, and smiled. She returned the smile, 
and came a little nearer. She found, as many others 
had found, a fascination in this person's eyes. 
They were gray, and not remarkable except from 
their excessive honesty. Under all conditions they 
appeared sincere and frank; but when the owner 
smiled, the soul behind seemed to shine through 
and out, convincing you, in a way you had never 
realked before, that honesty — transparent, immac- 
ulate, incorruptible honesty — was, after all, the 

lO 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

highest human attribute. As these translucent orbs 
beamed kindly upon the child, her young heart, 
under their supernal influence, expanded with a 
trustful love. 

Aren’t you afraid of the sun, out here with no 
hat on?” 

** No, sir; I like it.” 

He took out his watch and held it a moment, ab- 
sorbed in a calculation. 

“ Did your mother say she would be back by one 
o’clock ? ” 

Yes, sir.” 

He appeared undecided, looking first toward the 
open door of the cottage, then over the opposite 
fields to the harbor beyond, where floated the craft 
of every nation. The day was warm, but a gentle 
breeze from the water somewhat tempered the heat ; 
not enough, however, to cool the rays of a blind- 
ing sun now directly overhead. The air near the 
earth quivered beneath the scorching light, and in 
this neglected garden stray bees and humming-birds, 
drunk with heat and honey, reeled blindly to and 
fro. 

The visitor’s glance, drawn by the brilliant colors, 
rested for a moment upon the pretentious doll, now 
pressed with loving care against its owner’s stomach. 
Then, as if to aid his reflections, he opened his 


II 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

mouth a very little, drew in his lips, and slowly 
rubbed his chin. Perhaps the temperature of the 
garden hastened a decision, or it may have been the 
nature of his errand, for, with another smile to 
his young admirer, he turned and walked into the 
house. 

Although a diminutive and somewhat uninviting 
room, the Zabarelli parlor at the present moment 
proved a welcome refuge. The air fluttered gently 
through the closed blinds, and the subdued light, 
after the outer glare, was soothing to the senses. 
This room bore indications of modest comfort; 
but the extreme simplicity of its furniture strength- 
ened the impression already given by the exterior of 
the cottage that Poverty and the Zabarellis were 
close companions. 

When the stranger entered this parlor, he seated 
himself upon a sofa at the further corner, facing the 
door. The little girl, who had followed close be- 
hind him, climbed into a rocking-chair and began 
to rock, arranging, as she did so, the skirts and 
head-gear of the frivolous foreigner, all accompa- 
nied by coquettish glances toward the visitor. But 
he seemed absorbed in his own reflections. 

A long silence was broken only by the voices of 
birds from the neighboring trees, and by the 
occasional whistle of a distant steamer, hoarse and 


12 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

iron-throated, mingling with the 5hrieks of offi- 
cious tugs as they darted hither and thither on 
their breathless, never ending business. At last 
he turned toward her, and again smiled pleas- 
antly, — an easy thing to do as she was an 
attractive little person, whose laughing eyes and 
plump cheeks seemed to have brought some of 
the outer sunshine into the sober parlor. Be- 
sides, he was fond of children, and was himself a 
father. 

** What is your name ? ” he asked. 

** Filippa Whitehouse Zabarelli.*' 

** Whitehouse? 

*‘Yes, sir.’' 

“ Whitehouse is not Italian.'' 

‘‘Of course it isn't!" and she smiled as if 
amused at his ignorance. “ Whitehouse is Ameri- 
can. I am named Whitehouse after my grand- 
mamma." 

“ Oh, I see ! After your mother’s mother ? " 

“ Yes, sir." 

“Then your mother is not an Italian ? ” 

“ Oh, no ! She is from Massachusetts." 

“ Ah, yes, I understand.” 

And he wondered if Mrs. Zabarelli's nationality 
would render his errand more difficult. He feared 
it might. From his own experience he was well 

13 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

aware of wide mental variations between the New 
England woman of Puritan descent and the Latin 
immigrant. 

‘‘ Is that your father ? ’’ he asked, pointing to 
a large photograph that hung above the mantel. 

Yes, sir.’^ 

If this portrait was correct, Signor Udolfo Zab- 
arelli was a good-looking man who had carried his 
nationality upon his face with superfluous em- 
phasis. Short, black, stiff hair in aggressive 
abundance shot up from a low forehead, and was 
trimmed like the bristles of a brush — or a hawthorn 
hedge — in such a way that the top of his head 
could assume any shape desired by his barber. 
Alert eye-brows darting away from his nose at an 
upward angle gave a wide-awake expression to a 
firm but amiable countenance. There were in- 
dications of personal vanity of which he obviously 
was not ashamed, and which he took no pains to 
conceal. A diminutive, upturned mustache and a 
little black tuft beneath the lower lip completed the 
Italian effect. 

The face seemed familiar to the visitor. He 
was trying to remember where he had seen it, 
when the little girl, who had stopped rocking and 
was also regarding the portrait, said in a lower 
voice, — 


14 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

“ He only died a little while ago.’* 

Then, after a pause, ‘‘ My papa was very famous. 
He was a great artist. Did you ever see him ? ” 

The visitor shook his head. 

“ It was lovely to see him dance.” 

Dance? Then he remembered. Yes, indeed, 
he had seen him dance ; and then to the daughter he 
described the father as he appeared upon the stage, 
— how graceful he was, and how light upon his feet ! 
His own head used to swim to see Zabarelli spin 
like a top for an indefinite period, on the very tips 
of his toes, then stop with a jerk. And as he 
stopped, facing the audience, he would bring his 
fingers to his lips with a triumphant smile, and 
throw kisses to the right and to the left. 

His listener, as he spoke, slid down from her rock- 
ing-chair and came over and stood between his 
knees, a brown hand stroking the linen duster ; and 
there was a happy pride in the moist, upturned 
eyes as she listened to these praises. 

“ Yes,” she said in a subdued voice, with a touch 
of awe ; ‘‘ and mamma says there were ladies too, 
who danced about him, just like fairies.” 

‘‘ Yes, just like fairies; ” and then he went on and 
told of her father’s agility and of his wonderful 
effects, — of his flying about the stage, hither and 
thither, with tremendous bounds, a lady of the bal- 

15 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

let on either side. And these ladies, when he 
seized them by their waists, would spring high 
into the air, and then, as he held them at arm's 
length above his head, all a-quiver, like ethereal 
spirits, with their fluffy skirts and legs of dazzling 
pink, they would smile and wave their gleaming 
arms, slowly revolving like gorgeous lilies upon a 
sea of music. 

Filippa, with wide-open eyes and (parted lips, was 
listening enraptured, and expected more. 

But it is three or four years since I have seen 
him. Wasn't he ballet-master at the opera, later? ** 

'‘Yes; Maestro di Ballo. Do you know my 
uncle Guglielmo?” 

" Goolyelmo ? ” 

" Yes; ” and she continued as if repeating a diffi- 
cult lesson, " Guglielmo Onofredo Travaggini Biffi 
Titinnio Zabarelli.” 

“ Is that all one uncle? ” 

“ Yes ; and he is a dancer like papa. And what 
do you think he says? 

“ I couldn’t guess.” 

“ He says I may be a lady of the ballet, too, if 
I am good and graceful.” 

The visitor could not restrain a smile as he 
glanced down at the fat little figure, with its volu- 
minous waist and manifold rotundities. And in 
t6 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

the wide, cheerful face he detected a faint resem- 
blance to the portrait on the wall. 

‘‘ I have no doubt you will be good and grace- 
ful, and you will become taller and thinner as you 
get older, which will make it easier for you to 
dance.” 

“ Oh, yes! I shall be a beautiful lady: like 
her!” and she held aloft the doll, who appeared, 
upon a closer acquaintance, even more disreputable 
than before. 

** No, I hope not! ” he exclaimed, regarding the 
showy personage, who, as their eyes met, startled 
him by a prolonged and brazen wink. This crea- 
ture’s eyes, originally designed to close when in a 
recumbent position, had become impaired by care- 
less usage or by dissipation, and now moved in- 
dependently of one another, each by its own mech- 
anism, in a manner that could not fail to aggravate 
any unfavorable impressions already given. 

** Why not ? ” and the child looked up at him 
with disapproval. Her hair is real, and her dress 
is silk; just feel of it! And look at her shoes! 
She—” 

As Filippa spoke, a door opened in the adjoining 
room, toward the rear of the house, and the visitor, 
as if startled, pushed her roughly to one side and 
->fiose lo ins leei. She looked up At iiim in surprise 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

He seemed to have forgotten her presence, and was 
evidently disturbed. With three strides he crossed 
the little room, and seated himself upon a chair 
near the open door by which he had entered. 

A woman’s voice called, — 

‘‘ Filippa!” 

Filippa answered ; but before she reached the door 
Madame Zabarelli entered. 

The visitor found himself in the presence of a 
slight and rather pretty woman about thirty years 
of age. She was clad in the deepest mourning, 
and with her grave dark eyes, sensitive mouth, and 
rather prominent temples, gave the impression of an 
exceedingly earnest person ; of one already familiar 
with the darker side of life, who took all things 
seriously, and had tasted the bitter with the sweet. 

Finding a stranger in her little parlor, she stopped 
short in surprise; but after returning his ceremo- 
nious bow and the more effusive greeting of Filippa, 
she motioned him to be seated and awaited his er- 
rand. With her daughter standing by her side, she 
sat upon the sofa he had just quitted, watching him 
with expectant interest. For a moment he hesitated, 
as if searching for suitable language. But his hesi- 
tation was brief. When he spoke he smiled with 
fatherly benevolence upon his listener, who felt, as 
she looked into his truthful eyes, that she was in 
i8 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

the presence of one upon whose integrity, at least, 
she could implicitly rely. 

** I have come on a somewhat unusual errand, 
Madame Zabarelli, but it is one that need cause you 
no alarm. We merely desire, at the bank, to cor- 
rect an oversight before it can cause you annoy- 
ance.’* 

Her face at once became anxious; but he raised 
a hand as if to allay any possible uneasiness. 

** Excuse my not introducing myself at the out- 
set. My name is Elijah Folsom; I am one of the 
directors of our bank, as you very likely know.” 

She was not familiar with the names of the direc- 
tors, which ignorance she indicated by an apolo- 
getic movement of the head. 

Some skilful rascal,” he went on, ‘‘ has 
palmed off upon our receiving teller over two 
thousand dollars in counterfeit one hundred dollar 
bills, and after making an examination, about an 
hour ago, we fear some of them are among the 
notes in your possession.” 

At this she arose in real alarm and began to un- 
button her jacket. In doing this she loosened, 
unintentionally, a small gold chain to which a 
locket was attached. 

Lookout, mamma ! ” cried Filippa. “ You are 
dropping your watch ! ” 


19 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

Thereupon Madame Zabarelli took from her 
pocket a heavy gold watch, of a foreign pattern, 
and laid it upon a little table by her side. 

“ But do not worry, madam,'' he protested. “ If 
the bills are counterfeit, we shall make them good 
to you, no matter how many." 

But Madame Zabarelli was not to be composed 
so easily. The mere thought of counterfeit money 
was, in her mind, so closely associated with crime 
and disaster that her fingers hastily continued their 
work, until, from the inner recesses of her waist, 
a roll of bills was extracted. These she unfolded in 
an agitated manner and placed in his hand. He 
arose, and, standing near the doorway with his 
back to the light, examined each note carefully, 
yet with a certain rapidity. As he came to the 
twelfth, he said, with a smile, and a gentle shake 
of his head, — 

“ It is wonderful how clever the rascals are. 
Every one of these bills is a forgery." 

Madame Zabarelli's face expressed the most in- 
tense anxiety. But the eyes that met her own were 
so calmly reassuring, so brimming with paternal 
support, encouragement, and truth, that for a short 
moment she felt a happy relief. Being a woman, 
however, who gave thought to all things with tragic 
seriousness, and knowing this money was the last 
20 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

remnant of her husband’s savings, the only bar- 
rier between herself and absolute poverty, her fears 
quickly returned. 

‘‘ Shall I take them at once to the bank ? ” she 
inquired. 

Oh, no ! ” and placing them as he spoke in an 
inner pocket, he continued : “ There is no necessity 
for that. I am going there now myself, and to- 
morrow when you call we will have the good money 
ready for you. Or, if you prefer, we will send it 
here the first thing to-morrow morning, or even 
this afternoon.” 

‘‘ But, sir, I could not sleep to-night feeling 
this money, all I have in the world, was out 
of my hands! And something might happen to 
you. I think — ^you will understand my feeling — 
that I will take it to the bank myself, and go at 
once.” 

“ But this is not money,” Mr. Folsom replied, 
taking up his hat. ‘‘ These bogus bills are of no 
value whatever.” 

They are my only proofs of having been paid by 
the bank in counterfeit money ! ” she exclaimed 
rapidly in a high, nervous voice. 

He took a backward step into the hall, and was 
plainly at a loss for an answer. She extended her 
hand, and exclaimed in a more positive tone, — 

21 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

** I demand those bills, sir ! They are mine, and 
it's for me to decide what becomes of them ! ” 

Do not make a scene, madame," he answered, 
still backing toward the front door. ‘‘ I assure 
you there is no need of it." 

But his paternal manner had departed. She 
saw that he meant to keep the money, and her 
anxiety turned swiftly to a hideous fear. This fear, 
however, while it blanched her cheeks and caused 
her eyes to dilate in a sudden horror, gave the force 
to act upon a quick resolve. 

“ I will call the neighbors, and we shall see ! " 

But Mr. Folsom was between herself and the 
outer door. Being a woman of spirit and decision, 
and determined to run no risks, she turned to her 
daughter, pointed toward the rear of the house, and 
cried, — 

Run, Filippa, and tell Mr. Kendrick to come as 
fast as he can ! Quick ! " 

At this Mr. Folsom stepped hastily into the room. 
Madame Zabarelli shrunk back with an exclamation 
of horror, as he drew a revolver from an inner 
pocket and pointed it toward the child. The click 
of the hammer, as he cocked the weapon, seemed 
the voice of death. Filippa had started for the 
door, but her mother seized her by the ami and 
thrust the child behind her. 


22 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

** Are you a murderer ? ’’ she whispered. 

He lowered the weapon. 

“ I am whatever is necessary to avoid a disturb- 
ance. If you care for your own life or for that of 
your child, you will not leave this house within an 
hour. Friends of mine are watching between here 
and your next neighbor. And they know what to do 
if you try to raise an alarm. I wish you no injury, 
but it rests entirely with yourself whether this in- 
terview ends peaceably or with bloodshed.^’ 

Madame Zabarelli was very pale; her breath 
came quickly, and she leaned for support on the 
back of the nearest chair. His story of the ac- 
complices she believed. She straightened up, 
pressed a hand against her chest, and endeavored 
to be calm. 

Listen, sir, before you take that money. It is 
all I have in the world. It is all that is left of my 
husband’s savings,— of our ten years of hard work, 
— of all our economy. Without it my child and I 
are paupers. We have nothing, absolutely nothing. 
With it I can buy an interest in a little business; 
but if you take it ” — here her voice trembled and 
she seemed on the point of breaking down; then 
with a strong effort she continued, ** but if you take 
it we are turned into the street, homeless, without 
a cent in the world.” 


23 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

“ Oh, that's all right," he interrupted. “ I am 
sorry, of course, but business is business; and now 
that you know me better, don't be surprised if I add 
this to my collection ; " and with a step forward he 
lifted her watch from the table. 

‘‘ For Heaven's sake, leave me that ! " and she 
thrust forth a trembling hand in protestation. 
With the other she threw back the long veil that 
had fallen before her eyes. Then, with quivering 
lips and a torturing effort to be calm, she went on 
in an agitated, uneven voice, — 

Leave me that watch ! It was my dead hus- 
band’s gift on our wedding day. To me it is more 
than money. I — I will send you its value if I can 
earn it; only — ” At this point the tears came 
to her eyes and her voice broke. 

The watch was dropped into an outer pocket of 
the voluminous duster; but as it disappeared, Fil- 
ippa, in an excited, angry tone, cried out as she 
came between them: 

‘‘ You are a wicked man to take that watch ! 
What my mother says is true, and you ought to be 
ashamed ! " 

He looked down and smiled, but made no sign 
of returning the watch. As he again stepped to- 
ward the hall, Filippa, upon the impulse of a sudden 
thought, began tugging at one of her fingers. 

24 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

“Here! Take this! It is a ring my grandma 
gave me, and brings good luck to whoever wears 
it. Inside it says, * God Bless the Wearer.^ You 
take it and leave the watch ; and reaching high 
up above her head she thrust the ring toward him. 
He took it, and, thrusting aside the winding of 
thread that had been adjusted to fit Filippa’s finger, 
he examined the inscription, — 

To F. W. Z. God Bless the Wearer, 

“ Well,” he answ^ered with a ceremonious bow, 
looking down upon the upturned, angry eyes, half 
threatening, half entreating, “ I cannot refuse an 
offer from such a fierce little lady ; ” and he re- 
turned the watch to Madame Zabarelli, who seized 
it with eager fingers. 

“ And now,” he continued, with a respectful 
salutation, first to the mother and then to the child, I 
“ you must excuse me if I go. And remember 
my advice about leaving the house within an hour.” 

He turned, put on his hat, walked calmly out 
of the cottage and through the yard, unhitched his 
horse, climbed into the buggy, and drove briskly 
toward the town, Filippa stood in the doorway 
as he departed, watching him with sorrowful eyes. 
To lose her ring was a calamity, but it was a heavier 

25 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

blow that so nice a gentleman should turn out so 
badly. 

Her mother, pale, faint, with trembling limbs, 
dropped upon the nearest chair, and buried her face 
in her hands. In another moment, however, she 
started to her feet, throwing back the heavy veil 
that had fallen about her cheeks. It occurred to 
her that the robber, from his pointing along the 
road when speaking of her nearest neighbor, knew 
nothing of the back entrance to the street behind. 
She consulted her watch. There was nearly an 
hour before the next ferry-boat left the island. 
She ran for Filippa’s hat, tied it hastily upon the 
child’s head, and without stopping to lock up the 
house, hurried through the kitchen, across the field 
behind, through the Kendricks’ yard, and was just 
in time to get a horse-car to the town. 

She would catch him yet! But, to her flying 
spirit, it seemed that no earthly conveyance ever 
moved so slowly. However, when she stopped at 
the police headquarters there was nearly half an 
hour to spare. Ten minutes later the alarm had 
been given, and she, with the superintendent him- 
self, was at the wharf as the boat came in. They 
saw that no one went aboard before the arriving 
passengers had landed; then, in a shadowy corner, 
they waited for the thief. 

26 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 


At that hour of the afternoon few people left 
the island for the city, and the watchers’ task 
seemed easy. Of the dozen or more persons who 
came down the wharf and stepped aboard they saw 
no one who bore enough resemblance to the bogus 
Folsom to excite suspicion. Although the officer 
at her side impressed upon her the necessity of mak- 
ing the greatest allowance for disguises, — for age, 
gait, and figure ; for wigs, false beards, for raiment, 
and even for expression, — she was positive that 
none who passed her could have impersonated the 
man she sought. 

She scrutinized briefly and with little interest a 
man of thirty-five or forty, with short brown hair 
and erect figure, clad in a stylish suit of gray, who 
fanned himself with his hat as he stepped aboard. 
His near-sighted squint in peering through a pair 
of ill-fitting glasses would alone have allayed sus- 
picion, for it was chiefly by Mr. Folsom’s eyes that 
she was sure of knowing him. 

But if Madame Zabarelli could have opened the 
little satchel this gentleman carried, her interest 
would have been considerably quickened by the dis- 
covery of a loaded revolver, a linen duster, and a 
gray wig. 


27 


II 


w 


HEN this much desired traveller 
reached the city, he climbed the 
stairs of the Elevated road and en- 


tered a Third Avenue train. Had one been asked 
to indicate, among the passengers in this car, those 
who from physiognomy, manners, or apparel aroused 
a suspicion of dishonesty, Mr. James Wadsworth, 
alias Folsom, would not have figured in the list. 
His eyes alone would have debarred him from the 
competition. In manner he was dignified, reserved, 
and considerate of others. His garments were 
fashionable, but not showy; and although his head 
and neck were more suggestive of the sport ” than 
the student, there was something about the thin lips 
and clean-cut chin that recalled familiar portraits 
of eminent divines. In voice and language he 
appeared a cultivated man, which was natural 
enough, as he had received a liberal education and, 
for a brief period, had studied for the ministry. 
This was done under severe parental pressure, with 
intent to counteract, if possible, certain unspiritual 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

tendencies which had begun to alarm his family. 
But while possessing in rare perfection the voice and 
facial qualifications for a holy calling, his moral 
machinery was an amusing burlesque upon any such 
design ; so much so that he was thoroughly aware of 
it himself. In fact, he wasted little time in rectifying 
the paternal error. This he accomplished by remov- 
ing to the city and applying his unusual gifts to the 
discomfiture of his fellow-men. His successes in 
these more congenial pastures were numerous, and, 
whenever possible, were obtained by gentlemanly 
methods. Of course, in a career where the law 
persists in opposing the will of a resolute citizen, 
cases occur in which benevolence is inexpedient; 
but for these Mr. Wadsworth was always sorry. 
His sorrow, however, never retarded his digestion 
or disturbed his sleep. 

On this occasion, as he sat by the open window 
of the car, he felt a sorrow that Madame Zabarelli's 
inconsiderate perception had prevented his securing 
her money in a peaceful manner, as a director of 
the bank. It meant that one more victim familiar 
with his useful but compromising eyes was at large 
in the world, and that one more danger was forever 
before him. 

At Fourteenth Street he left the train. After 
an errand on Broadway he returned toward the 
29 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

East side, along Twentieth Street. When at 
Gramercy Park, he saw coming in his direction, 
on the opposite side of the street by the iron 
fence, a pedestrian who seemed deep in thought. 
Mr. Wadsworth crossed over and stood before 
him. 

‘‘ How are you, Foss ? ” he said. 

“ Hullo, Jim ! I’ve just come from your 
house.” 

‘‘ Well, come back.” 

“ No, I can tell you here; ” and he stepped closer 
to the iron fence to make way for a pair of baby 
carriages with their attendant nurses. 

Mr. Foster Graham was about fifty years of age, 
short, slight, and somewhat sporty in apparel. His 
dark skin appeared a little too loose for the bones of 
his face, particularly about the long, hard mouth, 
where it formed deep creases from the nose to the 
chin. There was something in the geography of 
these lines that suggested a sense of humor, al- 
though the habitual presence of a cigar, for whose 
security the mouth was perpetually elongated, may 
have increased this effect. Mr. Graham’s eyes 
■were a light gray, and they moved very slowly. Re- 
moving a freshly lighted and exceedingly strong 
cigar from his lips, he snapped away the ash and 
remarked : 


30 


Dr Thorne's Idea 

They are onto us/’ 

Then he replaced the cigar and wriggled it bade 
into its corner, where it remained during the rest 
of the interview. 

Over Mr. Wadsworth’s face came the faintest in- 
dication of uneasiness, as he inquired: 

‘‘The watchman?” 

His companion answered by an affirmative nod, 
and, turning about, faced the iron fence. As the 
two men stood looking through the railing upon the 
children who played upon the grass within, Mr. 
Wadsworth tightened his lips and drew a hand 
across his chin, as Filippa had observed a few hours 
before. But this time he was facing a far more 
disquieting possibility than his errand with Madame 
Zabarelli was likely to create. Two months before 
this interview, about three in the morning, as these 
two friends were endeavoring to open the safe of 
a prominent financial institution in a certain New: 
Jersey town, they were surprised by the watchman 
of the building. All details of the interview were 
still a mystery; but the discovery a few hours later 
of the dying watchman with a broken skull con- 
vinced his employers that he had died in defense 
of their property. As he left a wife and four 
children and was a general favorite with all who 
knew him, his sudden decease had aroused con-, 

31 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 


siderable feeling. While the would-be robbers 
failed in the real object of their visit, no public 
sympathy had thus far been expressed for them. 
Although an exceptionally large reward was offered 
for their persons, up to the present moment Mr. 
Wadsworth had not worried over the business, as 
he and his partner could think of no evidence likely 
to be brought against them. He always regretted 
violence; but in this case the responsibility rested, 
of course, with the intruder. 

What is it ? ’’ he inquired. What have they 
got?” 

You remember the milkman we had to ask 
about the trains ? 

Yes.^’ 

‘‘ Well, he’s a fly mug. He turns out to be one 
of them smart people that see and remember every 
damned thing that comes within a mile of ’em.” 

Could he describe us? ” 

** Describe us ! There ain’t a tooth in yer mouth 
nor a button on yer clothes — under-clothes, too — 
that he didn’t make a note of. God! if I had 
known what a million-eyed rooster he was, I’d 
’a’ given him the whole State for leeway ! ” 

There was a silence, during which the two men 
stood looking through the bars. Mr. Wadsworth 
took off his hat and fanned himself. 

32 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

“ What did he say of us ? 

“ He said a lot. He sized me up from head to 
heel. Hair, eyes, nose, wrinkles, clothes, voice, 
teeth, finger- joints, cravat, warts, buttons, chain, 
every damned thing that a man can carry, he got; 
and he got it straight.'' 

Here the creases at the unoccupied end of Mr. 
Graham's mouth formed themselves into a smile, 
and with a twinkle in his eyes he moved them slowly 
toward his companion. 

‘‘ And his catchin' on to you would make a hen 
laugh. He said the tallest man of the two didn't 
look like a thief; he looked like a lawyer, except 
his eyes were too honest." 

Mr. Wadsworth smiled, but the smile was not 
gleeful. He remembered that yet another de- 
scription of his eyes was probably on its way from 
Staten Island. His companion added, — 

‘‘ Them optics 'll be the bangin' of you yet, Jim. 
Better leave 'em home next time you travel for 
yer health." 

will. Where did you get all this?" 

From Fatty Barr, straight. You know he's 
at headquarters, sort of a clerk, and he copied off 
the testimony. But what puts a move on me 
more'n anything is that two fellers came into Bren- 
nan's the other day, and asked when I was most 
33 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

likely to be there; and as Brennan recognized one 
of ’em for the man who spotted Ikey Turnbull last 
year, I ain’t likely to be there very regular just 
now.” 

, What’s your scheme, Foss ? ” 

^ To git To-morrow morning I’m on the briny. 
I advise you to get a move on you, too, and damn 
sudden.” 

Mr. Wadworth appeared to be thinking, and 
again drew in his lips and slowly rubbed his chin. 
Turning his back to the fence, he said, — 

** I am hoping the next time we meet there 
won’t be so many iron bars just in front of us. 
They hurt the view.” 

** Every time.” 

** Where are you going ? ” 

To South America and you’d better join the 
procession.” 

** Can’t. I’ve got a wife and boy on my 
hands.” 

Mr. Graham laid a finger on his partner’s chest 
and said seriously^ with a grave face: 

“ Now don’t you linger, Jim. It’s gitt’n’ hotter 
every twenty minutes, and they’re likely to close 
in on you. Take my advice. Better be a live man 
in Brazil than a dead one in the bosom of yer 
family.” 


34 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

“ Right you are ! I’ll settle up things and light 
out. What’s your address down there ? ” 

Mr. Graham wrote three lines upon a piece of 
paper and handed it to his friend. Be sure and 
don’t put my name on that; they might find it on 
you.” 

** You needn’t worry. By the way, Foss, it’s 
four hundred I owe you, isn’t it ? ” and from an 
inner pocket he took out a roll of crisp, new 
bills. 

Oh, that’s all right. ’Tain’t what I went to 
your house for.” 

‘‘ I know it, but there’s a chance of our not 
meeting again where money’s any good; and you 
might as well take it now.” 

“ Thank you.” 

Then, as he noticed the roll was composed of 
one-hundred-dollar notes, he added, — 

** Had a graft, I guess.” 

Yes, but don’t let on, as I had trouble in 
fetching it and may hear from the job. It comes 
in mighty well, though, for things look as if I might 
need it. These sudden changes are expensive.” 

With the side of his mouth that was away from 
the cigar Mr. Graham smiled. 

“ It only proves there’s a Providence. God looks 
out for his pet lambs.” 


35 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

Mr. Wadsworth also smiled, this time with more 
enjoyment. 

“ Yes,’' he said, “ the Lord is generous if you 
work him right, and when we get to Brazil we’ll 
continue our labors in the vineyard.” 

Here Mr. Graham, without removing his cigar, 
brought the tips of his ten fingers together with a 
clerical gesture, and remarked with pompous dig- 
nity,— 

** And I have long felt. Brother Wadsworth, 
that the holy gospel should not be withheld from the 
wealthy heathen.” 

Then with smiling faces they shook hands and 
parted, not to meet again this side the Styx. 

As Mr. Wadsworth continued his homeward 
journey, still to the eastward, his thoughts were 
disquieting. He knew Foss Graham too well to 
doubt the truth of the information just received, 
and were it not for his family, he would be on the 
open sea to-night. But so sudden a departure 
needed skilful explanations. 

Passing through Stuyvesant Square, he seated 
himself upon an empty bench to decide on the 
style of fiction Mrs. Wadsworth would be most 
likely to accept. His hat he laid upon the seat be- 
side him; and soon the cool shade, the rustling of 
-he leaves above hk head, together with the 
3 ^ 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

of children at their play, produced a soothing effect 
upon nerves still calm and firm, but which had al- 
ready that day twice experienced a fatiguing tension. 
He might have floated off into a gentle slumber 
were it not for the somewhat stirring news he had 
just received. Even a man of Mr. Wadsworth’s 
temperament finds it difficult to attain a perfect 
peace of mind with the shadow of the gallows too 
distinctly outlined across his path. His eyes closed, 
however, and, as thus he reclined, the outward effigy 
of a tranquil soul, his brain, of a sudden, awoke 
in swift alarm, and all his senses became painfully 
acute. Behind him he heard stealthy footsteps 
upon the gravel walk, of some one cautiously ap- 
proaching. Mr. Wadsworth was a man of swift 
resolves and decisive action, but this time he felt 
the game was up. He made no motion; even his 
eyes remained closed. The man behind him, if 
the one he feared, was sure to be armed, and sure 
to be accompanied by a mate. They always came 
in pairs. And when a hand fell heavily upon his 
shoulder, an involuntary tremor shot up his spine 
and died frigidly away among the nerves of his 
scalp. If a passer-by had bent down and peered 
close into his face, he might have seen less color 
than usual about his lips; but no muscles moved. 
Judging from appearances, his cherubic slumbers 
37 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

were undisturbed. Inwardly there was sudden de- 
spair. Befpre him he saw a long trial with damning 
evidence and certain death, — the death of a com- 
mon criminal, — and he thought of his wife and his 
boy; but all was instantaneous, — a swift prophetic 
flash, like a knife through a desperate heart. 

But from this despair he was swiftly elevated to 
an ecstatic relief, and all by another movement of 
the hand upon his shoulder. It crept slowly to- 
ward his neck, and fingers that he now recognized 
as those of a child travelled playfully about his 
ears. He yielded, however, to no nervous im- 
pulses, for Mr. Wadsworth was a ‘‘ dead game 
sport.” He was the last man to display outward 
symptoms of his inward joys — or of his tribu- 
lations. 

‘‘ Steve,” he said quietly. 

I ‘‘ Did I scare you, pop ? ” came in a child’s voice ; 
and a boy of ten stepped out from behind the seat 
and stood before him. 

Mr. Wadsworth smiled an affectionate welcome 
into a pair of eyes exactly like his own. They were 
fully as honest, even more so if possible, bearing 
the same glad tidings of a soul overladen with truth, 
from which the Heaven-born light, pure and in- 
vigorating, shed forth support and guidance for less 
immaculate mortals. Like his father, these eyes 

38 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

were his striking feature; otherwise his face bore 
nothing unusual to impress a stranger. He had 
the fresh, wholesome complexion of those who 
are fond of exercise and whose digestions are 
friendly. 

When he smiled, and his smile ^came easily as 
from an open nature, the honest eyes joined in and 
formed an irresistible harmony. In the presence of ^ 
such a combination prolonged hostility, or even sus- 
picion, was impossible. The smile possessed an 
inviting quality, creating in the beholder a strong 
desire for further and more intimate relations with 
its owner. This inheritance, so successfully trans- 
mitted from the father to the son, was of priceless 
value to one ordained, by instinct and by educa- 
tion, for the beguilement and circumvention of his 
fellow creatures. It might appear that a compen- 
sating Providence had bestowed these efficient 
weapons in atonement for certain moral de- 
ficiencies. 

This boy had also inherited a splendid physique. 
Erect, deep-chested, and broad-shouldered, he stood 
firmly on his feet, and had already begun to have 
that solid look about the legs and shoulders that we 
associate with the professional gymnast. His 
straightness was not from any effort of his own, 
but because the compensating Providence had so 
39 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 


constructed. The expression of his face was cheer- 
ful and alert, more responsive and sympathetic than 
his father’s; less hard about the mouth, and the 
lips were fuller and with gentler curves. 

Mr. Wadsworth regarded the figure before him 
with grateful relief. And besides, he was proud 
of his son. He was proud of his strength, of his 
self-reliance and his pluck. He knew him to 
possess qualities in which he himself was deficient, 
some of which he admired; others he did not fully 
understand, and of these he was a little afraid. 

Did I scare you, pop ? ” 

I nearly fainted.” 

The boy laughed and laid a hand on his father’s 
knee. 

Well, you didn’t know at first who it was, any- 
way ! ” 

“No; I thought it might be — King George. 
But his fingers are cleaner than yours. I’m think- 
ing. How did you bark your knuckle?” 

The boy looked at his fist, then drew a handker- 
chief from his pocket and endeavored to remove 
the stains. 

“ That’s a nice, fresh-looking handkerchief,” his 
father remarked. “ Been wiping up the street with 
it?” 

As the grime and gore were transferred from 
40 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

the hand to the many-tinted cloth one or two 
small cuts were disclosed, which were still bleed- 
ing. 

** How did you do it ? 

As no answer came, it was evident to the father,, 
who knew his son, that the issue was being dodged. 
With a frown he asked, — 

** Been fighting again ? ’’ 

** No ; not a real fight.'’ 

‘‘ How was it ? " 

Over in the other square, a little while ago. I 
was coming through, and saw a quarter rolling 
along, right in the walk. When I picked it up and 
shoved it in my pocket, the little chap what was 
chasing it — ” 

** Who was chasing it ? ” 

“ — who was chasing it, began to kick up a roAV 
to have it back. He was a little dude, dressed 
like a sailor, with long yellow hair;” and on the 
narrator's face there came a smile of con- 
temptuous pity. ‘‘ Just as I lit out to get away 
from his yellin' a feller caught me by the collar,, 
behind. I twisted round, and there was a sucker,, 
that high, a grocer's boy, with a basket ; '' and he 
held a hand about a foot above his own head. 

His father smiled. Luck was against you that 
time, old man.” 


41 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

** No, it wasn't ! " said the boy, with a slow twist 
of the head. ‘‘ He told me to hand back the quar- 
ter, and I said I wouldn’t. Then there was chin- 
nin’, but I didn’t bull-doze for a cent, and he just 
hauled off and let me have one between the eyes. 
But it didn’t hurt anybody. Then I plunked him 
three or four peaches, one of ’em on the mouth, and 
his teeth cut me. I left him sitting on a seat try- 
ing to keep his face clean.” 

Mr. Wadsworth’s impassive face gave no out- 
ward sign of his pride in this achievement, as 
he did not believe in too much fighting either 
among boys or men. There was nothing to gain 
by it. 

‘‘ And you have spent the quarter already, I sup- 
pose.” 

No, sir; not yet.” 

There was something in the manner of the reply 
that suggested prevarication. 

Let’s see it.” 

“What?” 

“The quarter.” 

The young athlete searched through every pocket, 
then fixed the superlatively honest eyes upon those 
of his parent, and exclaimed, — 

“ Jiminy ! I’ve lost it ! ” 

But the senior Wadsworth had known these eyes 
42 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

from infancy. Besides, he had a similar pair him- 
self, and he w’^s not deceived. 

“ Steve, is that whole yarn a fake ? 

“ No, pop ! straight and honest, it ain’t.’' 

“ It isn't, you mean.” 

“ It isn’t.” 

“Then where’s the quarter?” 

For a moment the youth looked half ashamed. 
Then he made a reluctant confession. 

“ Well, as long as I had licked the big feller, 
and the little one felt so broke up over it, I just gave 
his money back to him.” 

Mr Wadsworth looked away and appeared in- 
terested in a passing citizen. This was not the first 
time his son had yielded to a foolish sentiment and 
lost his hard-earned gains. He could hardly scold 
him for it, and yet such ideas, if they became a 
habit, must of necessity be an obstacle to success. 
Steve saw, as he anticipated, that he had dimmed 
the glory of his victory. 

Mr. Wadsworth rose to his feet and took out 
his watch. 

“ Nearly five o’clock. We must be getting 
home.” 

As they walked away together, hand in hand, 
out of the park and along an adjacent street, the boy 
maintained a conversation touching on many sub- 
43 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

jects, but in which his companion took but a fit- 
ful interest. For Mr. Wadsworth had much to 
think of. There are many things to be adjusted 
before a father can leave his home forever, espe- 
cially at sudden notice; and in this case there were 
outside complications not likely to hamper the 
usual citizen. His wife caused him more embar- 
rassment at the present crisis than any other features 
of the dilemma. He was a good husband, and 
reasonably fond of her; and she was the mother of 
Steve, whom he loved even better than himself ; but 
he anticipated trouble, not so much because of her 
unvarying and unassailable selfishness, but because, 
of all women who had thus far come upon this 
earth, she was, in all human probability, the most 
tempestuous and unreasonable. 

The Wadsworth home, on the ninth floor of 
a pretentious but cheaply-constructed apartment 
house a short distance from Stuyvesant Square, 
consisted of a sitting-room, two chambers, and a 
bath-room. The small chamber was occupied by 
Steve, the larger one by his parents. All were on 
the rear of the building, looking south; and the 
view from the windows included the entire city to 
the south, the rivers on the east and west, a portion 
of the harbor, all of Brooklyn, and the distant hills 
in New Jersey. The interior of the apartment was 
44 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

less inspiring. In the sitting-room, plush furniture, 
cheaply made and of showy colors, had become 
shabby and uninviting. The carpet showed a lighter 
shade in diverging paths around the centre-table, and 
in places near the window the boards beneath were 
visible. Along certain spaces of shelves and tables 
the dust was undisturbed. A large gilt clock upon 
the mantel had received a blow from some flying 
object that had shattered its face and discouraged 
its interior. The two chambers were furnished in 
corresponding taste, and were administered by the 
same housekeeper. 

Upon entering the sitting-room and finding no 
one there, Mr. Wadsworth asked Stephen if he hap- 
pened to know where his mother had gone. 

‘‘ No ; only that she got on that car.'' 

“What car?" 

“ Why, the Second Avenue car." 

“When?" 

“ Why, pop, I told you on the way over that I 
saw her getting on to a car about an hour ago." 

“I didn't hear you. Was she alone?" 

Steve turned his eyes away; then, with a side 
glance toward his father, shook his head in the 
negative. 

“Wallace?" 

Steve bobbed his head. 

45 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

Mr. Wadsworth muttered something, and his 
face took an unpleasant expression. He was a man 
who controlled his feelings ; and as he tossed his hat 
upon a sofa and strode into the adjoining chamber, 
Stephen knew that his anger was deeper than it ap- 
peared. Mr. Wallace, the leading tenor in a second- 
rate theatre, was a person of neither beauty, intel- 
ligence, nor physique; but with hair and voice he 
was lavishly endowed. His raven locks, curly and 
somewhat longer than fashion required, excited no 
envy in other men, but upon the female heart they 
took a powerful hold. So also with his voice. 
Male members of the audience waited in patient 
silence until his song was firhished, and were hap- 
pier when the end arrived; but the average woman 
hung with passionate thirst upon his blatant, reedy 
notes, and yearned to possess him. He appeared 
seriously in love with Mrs. Wadsworth ; and as Mrs. 
Wadsworth was certainly no stronger or more dis- 
criminating than the average woman, her husband 
had excellent reasons for becoming anxious. In 
vain he pointed out the dangers of the situation. 
More than once he had argued with her kindly and 
not in anger, and she had promised to forego the 
tenor; but the promise was hard to keep, and Mr. 
Wadsworth became the victim of some discouraging 
suspicions. 


46 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

When he reappeared, some moments later, in his 
shirt-sleeves, he returned the smile with which 
Stephen greeted him. Seating himself by the open 
window, he took a little gold ring from his pocket. 
Here's a present for you, Steve." 

His son approached and leaned against the 
paternal knees. 

‘‘ A gold ring ? " 

‘‘ Yes, and one that will bring luck to whoever 
wears it." 

As he spoke, he was cutting with his penknife 
the silken thread that had been laboriously wound 
about it. 

“ What’s all that thread for ? " 

‘‘ To make it fit the one who owned it before." 

‘‘ He must have been a mighty small boy I " 

It wasn’t a boy; it was a girl." 

‘‘ Did she give it to you ? ’’ 

‘‘ Yes." 

With the silk removed it was found to be a per- 
fect fit for Stephen’s smallest finger. He slipped 
it on and off, held it up at various angles, and was 
pleased with his present. He discovered the in- 
scription along the inside and read it aloud: “ * To 
F. W. Z. God Bless the Wearer.’ What does 
F. W. Z stand for, pop? " 

‘‘Perhaps the initials of some other owner; but 
47 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

you wear it, and always keep it on your finger. As 
you get bigger a jeweller can let it out a little. 
Don’t take it off any more than you have to.” 

All right; I’ll never take it off.” 

** And if your mother should notice and ask 
about it, or want to take it in her hand, why, tell 
her you can’t get it off. Tell her you found it in the 
street.” 

Before placing it finally on his finger, Steve read 
again the loving legend. 

‘‘ God’ll bless me right along, won’t he ? all the 
time I wear it ? ” 

‘‘Very likely.” 

“That’ll be a good thing. Won’t it?” 

“ I should think so.” 

“ How does it work ? How’ll I be different ? ” 

“ It will bring you luck, and — and make you 
good.” 

The boy reflected. 

“ There’s no use in being too good.” 

“ No, not in this world.” 


’48 


Ill 


A n hour later they still awaited Mrs. Wads- 
worth’s return. It was half-past six, and 
both were hungry. The father, sitting 
near the door, was looking over papers, destroying 
those whose testimony he considered dangerous. 
Upon the table before him stood a bust, the size 
of life, of a famous pugilist. This was done in 
plaster, but smeared with an unpleasant tint sug- 
gesting bronze; merely a suggestion, however, as 
no one could be misled. Steve, the owner now 
lounging near the window absorbed in the biog- 
raphy of a distinguished train- robber, had won it 
in a raffle, and valued it far above dollars. 

At last a key was inserted in the outer door; 
then a showy presence filled the room. 

One glance at Stephen’s mother would explain 
the infatuation of many Wallaces. A magnificent 
physical triumph, Mrs. Wadsworth seemed more 
than enough to turn the head of the diminutive 
tenor, a man with neither length, breadth, nor diges- 
nor even oassable legs. Tali, and beautifuiliT 
4 ^ 


Dr. Thorne’s Idea 


proportioned, she was also perfectly erect, with a 
splendid carriage. This she had bequeathed to 
Stephen, his best inheritance from his mother. Her 
features were those of an Olympian goddess; her 
eyes were handsome. In fact, nothing seemed for- 
gotten in her physical outfit. But she herself had 
lived exclusively upon these gifts. Her expression 
was neither amiable nor contented; the roses in 
her cheeks were painted by a heavier hand than 
that of her Creator, and her hair was that 
golden yellow which deceives no one but the 
wearer. 

As she stepped to the centre-table and removed an 
elaborate hat with crimson plumes, her husband was 
reminded of Filippa’s doll. To a doubting spouse 
it was not a soothing resemblance, and his face ex- 
pressed his thought. She caught the look, and re- 
marked, in the manner of one who has a chip upon 
the shoulder, — 

‘‘Well, what are you ugly about?” 

“ I am not ugly, but it is pretty tough on any 
man to have his wife stumping around the town 
with a thing like Wallace.” 

She looked across the table into the mirror, and, 
adjusting the yellow locks with hands that glistened 
with enormous jewels, replied, with assumed indif- 
ference, — 


50 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

“ I don’t know what you mean. I ain’t seen him 
for a week.” 

‘‘ You went off with him about three hours ago 
in a Second Avenue car.” 

She appeared surprised, and her expression be- 
came less indifferent. 

‘‘ Did I, really?” 

‘‘ You did.” 

I thought you were the man who went out of 
town to-day.” 

‘‘ I did.” 

“ Then who told you that lie ? ” and the band- 
some eyes became hard as they turned with an 
ominous glitter toward the boy at the window. 

“ I saw you myself.” 

“ Then you got back in season to sneak around 
after your wife for a while.” 

Mr. Wadsworth made a strong effort to control 
himself. 

‘‘ Look here, Fanny,” he said in a calm tone, as 
he arose and stood facing her, “ that’s a poor bluff. 
You are bringing trouble on yourself and shame to 
the rest of us. That sort of thing doesn’t go down. 
You’ve got to stop it right here.” 

She raised her chin and looked him coldly in the 
face. 

“ You don’t say so.” 


51 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

Mr. Wadsworth made another effort to keep his 
temper; slowly, and in a harder voice he an- 
swered, — 

** I do say so ; and this time I mean it. I don’t 
share my wife with any half-grown, bleating, hairy 
freak.” 

At this epithet a change came over Mrs. Wads- 
worth’s face that caused her husband’s expression 
to turn swiftly from anger to apprehension. It also 
brought Stephen to his feet. This lady’s tempers 
were more than disastrous, they were destructive; 
and when they occurred all other business in her 
vicinity was hastily abandoned. Burt their violence 
and their frequency had developed a systematic 
treatment on the part of her present companions 
which was applied not only for their own preserva- 
tion but for that of the furniture. So, when her 
face became suddenly a ghastly white, with no trace 
of color save the two painted spots upon her 
cheeks, and this pallor as swiftly drowned in a crim- 
son flush as though her blood were bursting through 
the skin, then the father exchanged a hasty glance 
with his son, and both moved cautiously toward 
her, each from his own end of the table. The 
woman before them, insane for the time being from 
the intensity of a resistless, unreasoning fury, still 
i-etained the instincts of a beast at bay. Seizing a 

52 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

roller skate that lay upon the table, she hurled it 
with accurate aim and with murderous force at the 
head of her approaching husband. He dodged it, 
and it struck the noted pugilist full across the 
mouth, smashing him into hopeless chaos. Quickly 
she reached for the companion missile and raised it 
aloft; but before it could depart, Mr. Wadsworth 
had sprung to her side and seized both her wrists. 
Steve in the meantime, and with equal promptness, 
dropped to his knees at her feet, threw his arms 
about the maternal legs, his face deep buried in her 
skirt, and held her with' an iron grip. Then the 
husband and the son, with the ease and precision 
that come from practice, brought her gently to the 
floor. 

She also had learned from experience: she had 
learned, among other things, that against these two 
athletes resistance was of no avail. But her tongue 
was free. Mr. Wadsworth, while holding her as 
gently as possible, became the recipient of curses so 
emphatic, so varied, and so ingeniously insulting as 
to have been insupportable had they come from 
other lips. But he was well aware that the woman 
who uttered them had become an irresponsible 
being; a fact also recognized with filial sympathy 
by the son, although he clutched her knees with an 
unyielding grip. 


53 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 


In two or three minutes, when safety permitted, 
Mr. Wadsworth loosened his hold, Steve followed 
his example, the lady climbed slowly to her feet, and 
the family relations, to all appearance, continued as 
before. 

It was a hard thing to live with, this temper, and 
the day was one of sorrow for Mr. Wadsworth 
when he first discovered what a cruel heritage had 
fallen to his son. With all a father’s affection for 
an only child — and for this boy his love was greater 
than for himself — he endeavored by every means 
within his knowledge at first to suppress, and finally 
to reason with and to control these outbursts. But 
the reward was meagre ; for the boy, although him- 
self ashamed of and ever doing his best to avert 
them, was powerless to conquer. They overtook 
him, these spasms of fury, not often, but with suffi- 
cient frequency to reclaim their victim, and to show 
him that human viligance was of no avail. Be- 
tween himself and Mrs. Wadsworth, however, ex- 
isted an important distinction : the mother after these 
attacks remained sullen and vindictive. With the 
son there was an eagerness to make the fullest atone- 
ment. 

Half an hour later, when they quitted the apart- 
ment and walked to a neighboring restaurant for 
, dinner, no observer would have presumed to sus- 
.54 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

pect this stately and pretentious female of her re- 
cent behavior. During the meal she showed no 
signs of resentment, and her amiability caused her 
two companions not only an unwonted pleasure but 
a mild surprise. This amiability was the result of a 
swift decision. Behind loving smiles and cheerful 
conversation she was perfecting a plan by which to 
paralyze the wicked and reward the virtuous, all 
by a single, sudden action, splendidly dramatic in 
its irreparable results. Her external sweetness was 
ably maintained until the hour for action; and the 
hour for action was close at hand. 

At the door of the apartment house Mr. Wads- 
worth left them, saying it would be late in the even- 
ing before he returned. He noticed that his wife’s 
expression was one of unusual gentleness; and had 
his knowledge of her character been less complete, 
he might have laid it to affection, or, at least, to 
self-forgetfulness. But, whatever the cause, it was 
unfamiliar, and he recalled it later. 

Upon entering the apartment Mrs. Wadsworth, 
without removing her hat, went directly to a desk 
and wrote a note. After sealing and directing it, 
she came toward Steve, who occupied his favorite 
perch at the window, absorbed in the “ Lives of 
Famous Robbers.” 

“ Steve, I want you to take this — ” Then she 

55 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

hesitated, and, remembering his fidelity to his 
father, decided that in this emergency he was not 
to be trusted. 

“ Ring for the elevator,” she said in a harder 
voice ; and she passed into the adjoining chamber. 

When the elevator arrived she herself took out the 
note, and Steve heard her say to the boy, — 

“ Give this to a messenger at once, and tell him 
he will get an extra quarter for a quick answer.” 

In less than half an hour the answer came. After 
reading it she turned to Stephen with her sweetest 
smile, and inquired if he would like to go to the 
theatre this evening. The reply, as anticipated, was 
an emphatic affirmative. She placed a fifty-cent 
piece in his hand, and told him to select his own 
performance. He was surprised, but lost no time 
in waiting, and at once departed, marvelling at this 
^ uncommon but delightful exhibition of a mother’s 
love. 

When he returned, three hours later, the rooms 
were dark and silent. He stepped to the doorway 
of her chamber and whispered, — 

‘‘ Ma.” 

No answer came. Then he spoke again in a 
louder voice, but there was no response. The voice- 
less gloom of the apartment seemed a living 
thing, concealing some mysterious calamity. But 

56 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

Stephen's nerves were not of the kind that flutter. 
He struck a match and lit the gas. Over the floor^ 
upon the bed and chairs, were scattered various 
articles of woman's clothing, — here a skirt and 
there a hat, with occasional shoes and undergar- 
ments; bedclothes, pillows, newspapers, and empty 
hat-boxes. The bureau drawers were open and 
empty; the closet doors were open, and the closets 
were empty. The contents of the room had been 
thoroughly overhauled. 

He was puzzled, and for a moment suspected a 
robbery ; but where was his mother ? Robbers could 
never take her away. Tucked in the mirror above 
the bureau was a folded paper. Going nearer, he 
read the address, Mr. James Wadsworth, in his 
mother's writing. He pulled it out and opened it. 

Dear Jim, — You and I don’t hit it very well, and I leave you for 
somebody W’ho understands me better, and you needn’t try to 
follow me, because I shall be miles away from this town when 
you read these lines. You can have Steve. I am writing this in 
great haste ; so good-by from 

Fanny Wadsworth. 

Steve read this twice, very slowly, for its full 
significance was difficult to grasp. But he finally un- 
derstood. She had left dad and him for Wallace! 
Refolding the paper, he tucked it in the frame of 
the mirror where he had found it, then he walked 
back to the sitting-room window, and, leaning over 
57 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

the sill in his favorite position, looked out over the 
sleeping city. It seemed vaster than ever, and 
farther below him. 

He took no interest in the rising moon or its 
j shimmering light upon the river to the east. With 
indifferent eyes he gazed upon the silvery flood 
that illumined the towering sentinels of the Brook- 
lyn Bridge, and touched in the far obscurity, with 
familiar greeting, the watching goddess in the 
harbor. Beyond these, and beyond the limits of his 
vision, he tried to peer into the darkness, wonder- 
ing in which direction his tempestuous parent had 
flown. And he wondered if, in the city below, there 
were many boys whose mothers had also run away. 
Perhaps it was a common thing. He hoped so. 
She was not a perfect mother, but he recalled the 
kind things she had done for him, making a gallant 
effort to forget the unpleasant ones, — ^to forget that 
she had never given him the care and attention that 
other boys seemed to get from their mothers; that 
his clothes were never mended unless the janitress 
or a tailor saw to them; and that more than once 
she had punished him because she was angry with 
his father. These things he tried to forget, remem- 
bering only that she was his mother, and that she 
was gone. 

But it cut him to the heart that she should give 

58 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

him up so easily. ‘‘You can have Steve.” The 
words were cruel, and he could not help repeating 
them. 

His eyes were moist as he left the window, and 
they were still moist, some minutes later, when, in 
a buttonless night-shirt, he threw himself upon his 
bed. The night was warm, too warm for sleep, and 
he felt like going out into the streets and hunting for 
his father. 

At one o’clock he was still awake, and he heard 
a key in the door. Jumping from bed, he ran out 
into the parlor to welcome his remaining parent. 

As Mr. Wadsworth entered the unlighted room, 
he could barely distinguish the white figure by the 
center-table. He stopped short as Steve, in a 
solemn voice, announced, — 

“ Ma’s gone ! She’s run off with Wallace.” 

It was too dark to see distinctly, but Steve knew 
his father was compressing his lips and drawing a 
hand across his mouth. 

“ She left a letter for you, sticking in the mir- 
ror ; ” and the white sleeve of a night-shirt pointed 
toward the chamber. 

Into the next room walked father and son, the. 
latter sitting upon the edge of the bed, crossing and 
uncrossing his bare legs as he watched his sire with 
a sympathetic gaze, and saw him turn up the light, 
59 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

then take the letter from its place and read it. Al- 
though he knew this parent well, he was surprised to 
see him receive such momentous tidings with no 
change of expression. He merely drew in his lips 
, and passed a hand across his chin, — as usual when 
there was food for reflection, — and then quietly laid 
aside his coat and vest and loosened his collar. 

Seating himself in a rocking-chair, he questioned 
Steve for further information; but there was little 
to be learned. As his glance encountered a jewel- 
box, overturned and empty, upon the bureau, he 
picked it up and muttered, with a mirthless smile 
upon his lips: 

“ The poor things won’t realize heavily on their 
jewelry.” 

Steve failed to comprehend; but as the joke on 
Wallace was evidently too good to be suppressed, 
the father continued, — 

** When I gave your mother her engagement ring, 
I was flush and I laid myself out on it. It cost me 
two hundred dollars. I found accidentally, a year 
or two after we were married, that she had realized 
on the two-hundred-dollar diamond, and substituted 
an imitation. But she has never suspected that I 
know it.” 

At this point Steve came over and stood between 
his knees. 


6o 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 


‘‘Well, as your mother showed such a prefer- 
ence for paste, I have given her several handsome 
specimens of it since. Every Christmas, New 
Year’s, and on all her birthday’s, she has received 
precious stones that must aggregate, in her opinion, 
about three thousand dollars. And I have made a 
point of examining them carefully, now and then, 
in her presence, all but the engagement ring, to let 
her see that if any of them were changed, I should 
be sure to discover it.” 

Laying his hand on the boy’s shoulder, he added, 
with an exultant twinkle in the superlatively honest 
eyes, — 

“ If you ever run away with another man’s wife, 
Steve, and are counting on a nice little for- 
tune, I hope it won’t pan out for less than thirty 
dollars.” 

Although Steve had a poor opinion of Mr. Wal- 
lace, his sympathies were too much with his mother 
to permit a thorough enjoyment of her defeat. 

“ But it’s hard on ma, ain’t it ? ” he asked. 

“ You mean, isn't it.” 

“/.m’Mt?” 

“ Of course it is; but if people ” 

A loud knock at the outer door brought, Mr. 
Wadsworth to his feet with a suddeness that nearly 
sent Stephen to the floor. In surprise, the boy 

6i 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 


looked up at his father, and saw that his eyes were 
turned savagely in the direction of the sound, that his 
lips were tightened and his hands clenched. Silently 
and swiftly Mr. Wadsworth slipped on his vest and 
coat, then tiptoed through the parlor, and listened 
near the outer door. Steve followed, and they heard 
a voice, of one man speaking to another, in a 
muffled tone. As silently as before, his father 
stepped back, away from the door, toward the 
window, and, resting a hand on each of Stephen’s 
shoulders, he bent down and said in a tone that no 
one else should hear, — 

** Steve, they have got me, and you won’t see 
your dad again. I must go with them; there’s no 
help for it. And all because I am a fool,— the 
damnedest of all damned fools ; ” and he straight- 
ened up with an angry gesture. 

‘‘ But, dad,” whispered Steve, ain’t there some- 
thing I can do? Can I — ” Here a knock louder 
than before was followed by a heavy, impatient 
voice. 

'‘Open the door, Mr. Wadsworth. We know 
you are inside.” 

“Can’t I get in the way, or something?” Steve 
went on. “ I can do it, dad ! I can do whatever 
you say ! ” 

Mr. Wadsworth Jooked down at the muscular lit- 
62 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

tie figure in its airy garment, and it brought an idea. 
His face brightened. 

‘‘ Could you grab one of those men by the legs, 
as you do your mother, and hold him long enough 
for me to manage the other chap ? 

‘‘Yes! Yes! Easy!” 

“If you can do that, Stevey, you’ll save your 
father. Now, be sure and jump for the one I point 
at — in this way — and go for him just when I point. 
Is it understood ? ” 

“ Yes,” Steve whispered, “ and Til hang till 
death.” 

His father touched his lips to his adherent’s 
cheek. “ Go to Charley Myers every day, — you 
know him ? ” 

“ Yes, the saloon.” 

“ Go to him every day for a week, until — here 
a series of knocks heavier than the others was fol- 
lowed by threats of breaking down the door — un- 
til you hear from me. Now open the door; and 
keep close to the man who first comes in.” 

It was skilfully planned; but its execution de- 
manded presence of mind, some physical strength, 
and unshrinking courage. Mr. Wadsworth had 
participated in similar affairs, and could rely upon 
himself; but his present backer was as yet untried. 
However, as Stephen in his snowy vestment strode 

63 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

calmly toward the resounding door, he gave promise 
of these essentials. 

When he opened the door, a man of heavy build, 
without waiting for any words, pushed roughly by 
him into the dusky parlor. And as he paused 
to get his bearings, the ghostly figure that fol- 
lowed close upon his heels moved swiftly to his 
front. 

Jim Wadsworth, you are my prisoner.’’ Then 
the father, who had purposely lingered in a shadowy 
corner, stepped out into the room. 

For answer, he raised an arm toward the in- 
truder, and with extended finger said calmly in his 
usual tone, — 

‘‘ Jump.” 

Whereupon a swift, white movement toward the 
officer’s legs was followed by, what seemed to the 
recipient, the locking of iron clamps about his knees. 
At the same instant Mr. Wadsworth darted by him, 
out into the hall. The man, with an oath, brought 
his fist against the side of Stephen’s head, a heavy 
blow. Then a second, — and a third. 

Steve winced, and buried his face yet deeper be- 
tween the twisting legs. But he tightened his grip. 
A revolver, a long and heavy one, was snatched 
from a trouser’s pocket, held aloft by the barrel, 
and brought down with savage force upon one of 

64 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

the arms that kept this much needed officer from the 
scuffle in the hall. 

There was a cry of pain, involuntary but half 
suppressed, and the fingers of that hand relaxed. 
The broken arm hung useless from the shoulder, 
and the big officer wrenched himself away. 

But Stephen was still in the fight. He was there 
for victory or for annihilation. With a forward 
lurch, as the man turned about, he threw his good 
arm about the nearest leg, below the knee, and 
squeezed it hard against his head and shoulder. 
And as he heard a cry for aid from his father’s 
adversary, he gripped the trouser in his teeth, — for 
he expected another blow, and another blow might 
break another arm. 

But his towering prisoner also heard the cry, and 
with desperate fury again brought down the heavy 
metal butt, this time regardless of results. It 
landed on Stephen’s skull. The head drooped, all 
the muscles of the clinging body relaxed, and the 
man rushed out into the hall. 

He found his comrade stretched upon the floor, 
bleeding and senseless. Leaning over the baluster, 
he heard, far down, the squeak of sliding hands 
along the stair rail, and the sound as of some one 
clearing a flight at a time, the feet only touching the 
steps at distant intervals. 

65 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

Straightening up and looking back into the un- 
lighted room, he sent a curse, emphatic and com- 
prehensive, to the silent victor now motionless upon 
the carpet. 


66 


IV 


W ITH returning consciousness Steve 
opened his eyes. He closed them, 
however, in a painful effort to recall 
his previous existence. At present he was lying 
upon a bed in a spacious room, with other beds 
on either side of him, and all were occupied. A 
few persons moved silently about, mostly women 
in gray, with white caps and white aprons. In his 
struggle to remember what could have happened to 
bring him here without his knowledge, he started 
to sit up, and discovered, in so doing, that his left 
arm was encased in a hard, unwieldy substance, and 
that all his muscles were astonishingly weak. 

One of the women in gray and white approached 
his bedside and readjusted the coverlet about his 
shoulders. Looking up into the face that was bend- 
ing over him, he inquired, as returning memory re- 
vealed a fragment of the past, — 

‘‘ Did dad get away ? ” 

“ Don’t think about that now ; everything is all 
right. Close your eyes and go to sleep again.” 

67 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

“ Did dad get away ? ” he repeated in the 
impatient tone of one who is not to be trifled 
with. 

It was a hard question for a nurse who knew 
nothing of her patient’s antecedents, and she 
hesitated. 

Did you want him to get away ? ” 

** Of course I did ! ” and into his feverish face 
came a look which said plainer than words, ‘‘ What 
sort of a fool are you, anyway ? ” 

But she answered gently, with a soothing hand 
upon his shoulder, — 

‘‘ Yes, he got away.” 

Her reward was a smile of triumphant joy, ac- 
companied by a sidelong, somewhat boastful move- 
ment of the bandaged head, conveying the impres- 
sion that some honor was due in a quarter not to be 
mentioned, and that he, the wreck, knew more about 
it than he cared to tell. But this was followed by a 
more serious expression, as he added, with a con- 
traction of the eyebrows as in painful effort to un- 
ravel a mystery, — 

“ I don’t remember the last part of it.” 

“ There’s nothing to worry about. Your arm is 
all nicely set, and your head will soon be as good 
as ever.” 

** My head! Was that hurt? ” 

68 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

“ Yes, but in a few days it will be all right 
again.” 

‘‘ Oh, I don’t care now ; ” and with a smile upon 
his lips, he closed his eyes in that glorified content- 
ment known only to the victor in an up-hill fight. 

It was some weeks later when he left the hos- 
pital, in surprisingly good repair considering the 
damage received. To his annoyance he found him- 
self an object of sympathy, as his arm was to remain 
in its wrapping a few days longer, and of course he 
was paler; but that only intensified the honesty of his- 
eyes, and added to the general interest. 

Although glad to be well again, his return to 
what was formerly his home proved a melancholy 
joy. The familiar rooms, with their bird’s-eye view 
over so much that had always amused him, became 
now a depressing reminder of his departed family. 
And these suddenly vanished parents had made no 
provision for his nourishment. In the way of 
money he had nothing. With his father’s relatives 
a comfortable and a permanent home could be 
secured and without the asking; but sooner than ac- 
cept it, he would have endured with cheerful spirit 
every possible tribulation of a roofless independence. 
Toward this paternal grandfather, who would gladly 
have assisted him, Stephen, since his earliest child- 
hood, had borne a violent prejudice. And this 
69 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 


prejudice extended to every member of his grand- 
father’s household. The boy had made various 
visits to the homestead in Vermont before his 
father’s career became so frankly criminal that the 
family were compelled to close the door against 
him. 

This grandfather — a truthful, upright man, who 
respected the law and went to church on Sunday — 
had endeavored to conduct his family along the 
pathway of a reasonable virtue. But for Stephen 
such an atmosphere had no attraction. That he, 
as a boy, should be punished for theft and false- 
hood when the man who punished him was not the 
victim, was an act of officious tyranny too gro- 
tesquely virtuous for his comprehension. He re- 
mained firm in the belief that the great majority of 
mankind were like himself and his respected father ; 
that theft and falsehood were the natural evidences 
of a higher intelligence. His sense of justice being 
outraged by these repeated and severe rebukes, he 
not only hated, but he sincerely despised, this mis- 
comprehended and — to him — abnormal grandfather. 

His mother, so far as he knew, had never pos- 
sessed a relative. 

During the first day of his return his hospital 
breakfast sustained him, and without serious dis- 
comfort; but the next morning an inward empti- 
70 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

ness cried sharply for attention. When he stepped* 
forth into the street, his stomach had become a 
yearning void. His head, however, contained a 
brilliant scheme. He would enter the restaurant 
which he and his parents had often visited, tell the 
waiter these parents would soon be along, order a 
splendid breakfast, eat most of it himself, then,, 
with an affecting display of filial anxiety, inform 
the proprietor of his fear for their safety and, he 
hoped, walk safely out. It happened, however, 
either by chance or from a careless providence, that 
just at the right moment, in front of a house along 
his route, a gouty gentleman with a round face and 
gray side-whiskers, emerged cautiously from a han- 
som; and, while supporting himself upon a cane, 
tendered a five-dollar bill to the driver. The driver 
shook his head, and expressed regret at his ina- 
bility to change it. The gentleman, disappointed 
and somewhat annoyed, and while deciding upon the 
least troublesome course, was struck by the ajv 
pearance of our hero, who happened to be passing. 
More truthful eyes he had never seen; and these 
eyes, in combination with a pale face and one arm 
in a sling, became saintlike in their innocence. 

He stopped the boy, and as he looked down at 
shorter range into the cool gray orbs that met his 
own, he experienced a spiritual elevation; his whole 

71 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 


tnoral nature expanding, as it were, under their en- 
nobling influence. Gazing into these translucent 
depths, he felt a sense of shame at his own impurity ; 
and when he asked the owner of these eyes if he 
would run across to the apothecary at the next 
corner and get the change for the bill, he regretted 
the insignificance of the sum, wishing it a hundred 
dollars instead of five, that he might reward such 
exceptional honesty by a more proportionate con- 
fidence. 

“ Yes, sir, of course ; but the surgeon says I 
mustn’t run or jump with this arm.” 

Oh, that’s all right ; only walk fast, and I will 
see that you don’t lose by it.” 

He turned, as the messenger departed, and moved 
painfully across the sidewalk. Stephen’s first 
thought when he stepped out into the street, going 
diagonally across toward the apothecary’s, was of 
^ the pleasure this money could afford if converted 
into food. His second thought, so closely allied to 
the first as to form a part of it, consisted merely of 
a quick resolve to elude the gouty gentleman and 
retain the bill. In reaching this decision there was 
no moral struggle. The good angel who whispers 
to the would-be sinner was not present on this occa- 
sion. That angel and this boy had never met. 

Before reaching the middle of the street Steve 
72 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

had made a rapid survey of the field of action and 
had formed a plan. When he stepped upon the 
curbstone in front of the druggist's, he saw by a 
backward glance that the recent owner of the bill 
was still moving painfully across the sidewalk, and 
that the driver, whose back was toward him, had 
begun an absorbing operation upon the snapper of 
his whip. 

With a quicker gait he turned the corner, stopped 
for another look, and then, being unobserved, he 
ran his fastest. His arm, he kfiew, was safe un- 
less he fell or struck it. It was a short block, and he 
soon reached the other avenue, where he slowed up,, 
partly on account of his arm, which a collision might 
injure, and partly from the protection afforded by 
the greater crowd. 

For additional precaution he walked rapidly a 
block or two, then, with an outward smile and an 
inward peace, selected his restaurant. The place 
he chose was one of the first he came to, as the 
emptiness of his interior had become a positive pain. 
This restaurant, the width of an ordinary house, 
contained rows of tables on cither side, their ends, 
against the wall, each table seating four persons. 
At one of these tables Stephen seated himself, and 
gave his order. The order was unusually compre- 
hensive, and the waiter smiled as he received it. 

73 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 


That’s a big dinner, bub ; sure you want to pay 
for all that ? ” 

The guest took a five-dollar bill from his pocket 
and unfolded it in an off-hand manner. 

“ I guess it won’t cost more’n five dollars, will 
it?” 

‘‘ No, that’s all right. But yer dead sure yer can 
git away with all yer’ve ordered?” 

** Yes, and more too. And make it two portions 
of steak.” 

Which will yer have first ? ” 

Bring it all at once ; ” and he said to himself, 
as the waiter departed, ‘‘ It’ll be bully to look at all 
the rest of it while I’m eating,” 

When the feast was spread before him, he gazed 
with intoxicated senses upon the throng of dishes. 
No sunset sky ever poured into a painter’s soul one- 
half the beauty that came to the yearning Stephen 
from the contemplation of his steak and fried 
potatoes ; from the sausages, the omelette, the buck- 
wheat cakes, the oysters, the stewed tomatoes, the 
egg-plant, and the custard-pie. He began with the 
custard-pie; for now that he was his own master, 
why not eat in the order that pleased him best ? 

Never before had he realized his full capacity for 
pleasure. Hunger and food, — a combination for 
the gods! And he was tasting it in its fulness. 

74 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

After the custard-pie he ate the fried oysters; 
and the hollowness within began to yield to a celes- 
tial calm that gladdened the remotest corners of his 
soul. He looked about upon the other diners, and 
his previous hostility soon yielded to a friendly in- 
terest. 

When he entered the restaurant, there were many 
vacant seats, and thus far he had been alone at his 
little table ; but as the last oysters disappeared, the 
two opposite chairs were occupied by fresh arrivals, 
a woman in black and a little girl. As the woman 
seated herself in front of Stephen, their glances met, 
and the expression of her face underwent a sud- 
den change. She seemed surprised and even 
startled. He felt uneasy. Could she be the wife or 
sister of the man whose stolen dollars he was so 
thoroughly enjoying? And had she recognized 
him? With a frown he shifted his glance to the 
little girl. In her face also, as her eyes encountered 
his, came a similar astonishment. He read on both 
their faces what appeared an unwelcome recogni- 
tion. But the child made no effort to conceal her 
surprise, and exclaimed in an audrble whisper, — 
Why, mamma, his eyes are just like Mr. 
Folsom's ! " 

Hush, Filippa ! " 

But the mother's gaze, as if by a fascination be- 

75 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

yond her control, still clung to Stephen’s eyes. Her 
own eyes, naturally earnest and somewhat intense in 
their expression, showed at the present moment an 
unusual excitement. Leaning slightly forward, and 
in an obvious effort to assume a friendly manner, 
she said : 

** Excuse me, but what is your name ? ” 

The suspicious youth, obeying an instinct of self- 
preservation which had been abnormally sharpened 
by his own career and by his father’s life and teach- 
ings, answered, with easy promptness, — 

. Henry.” 

And your last name ? ” 

“ Simmons.” 

She leaned back in her chair, disappointed. The 
waiter took her order. It consisted merely of one 
portion of soup, and bread and butter. But the 
daughter, whose appetite was not in harmony with 
such a meagre lunch, laid a hand on her mother’s 
arm, and, looking up into her face, exclaimed in 
beseeching tones, — 

‘‘Oh, mamma, have more than that! Have 
things like those ! ” and she pointed with the other 
hand to the riotous profusion of their neighbor’s 
dishes. 

“Hush, darling. Wait until supper; then you 
shall have more.” 


76 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

But on the mother's face came a look that told 
how painful the denial. The child said no more. 
Her eyes, however, were fixed upon the array of 
steaming dishes with a look that spoke plainly of 
an inward need. The wide, cheerful little face had 
frequently taken this expression since the sudden 
calamity which had driven her mother and herself 
to the strictest economies. 

The little scene was not lost upon Steve, and he 
reflected. His reflections were broken by another 
question from the persistent mother, who inquired 
in a manner designed to avert suspicion, — 

Does your father look like you ? " 

But Steve's suspicions were of a character not 
easily allayed. 

‘‘ No, ma'am, not at all." 

“ What sort of a looking man is he ? " 

While the wary youth was hesitating, uncertain 
as to which manner of lie would best serve the pur- 
pose, a new arrival, just seating himself at a table 
behind his questioner, unconsciously supplied him 
with material. 

He's short and fat, with a big, red, shiny face, 
fat lips, and a funny nose." 

With this answer her final hope departed. She 
sighed, and relinquished the attack. And this an- 
swer, as far as Stephen could judge, seemed to 
77 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

soften her heart and bring a friendly feeling, for 
she inquired — and this time in a voice that was 
honestly sympathetic — if he would not like her to 
cut his steak, as he seemed helpless, only one of his 
hands being available. He thanked her, and grate- 
fully accepted the assistance, while insisting, in his 
turn, upon their partaking of the dish, — an offer 
declined by the parent, but accepted with celerity 
and enthusiasm by the eager daughter. And she 
devoured her steak with a relish that brought a 
moisture to the mother’s eyes. The dispenser of 
this joy was now experiencing that combination of 
benevolence and superiority so satisfying to the 
liberal giver. Pausing for a moment between his 
final sausage and the buckwheat cakes, he straight- 
ened up in his chair, and over his exuberant break- 
fast sent a smile to the recipient of his bounty. She 
returned it with interest, and expressed, by a nod, 
a hearty appreciation of her blessings. Of the fried 
potatoes she also partook, at his request, her mother 
having ceased to object, as in the presence of such 
lavish abundance there seemed little danger that the 
host could suffer from any reasonable diminution of 
his store. 

Out of a little black bag — a sort of wallet — ^that 
she had previously laid upon the table, the mother 
hurriedly drew a heavy gold watch, but after study- 
78 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

ing it a moment, seemed to decide there was no 
cause for hurry, and replaced it. Steve wondered 
why such a handsome watch should be without a 
chain. There was once a chain, however, and it 
also was of gold, but a week before it had been ex- 
changed, with other articles, for money to purchase 
food. 

Filippa, who became more and more sociable un- 
der the influence of a hearty meal, exclaimed with 
her customary enthusiasm, — 

‘‘ I had a gold ring just like yours ! 

Steve nodded ; but as no answer was required, he 
continued with his cakes. 

‘‘ But mine had an inscription in it.*' 

‘‘ So has mine,’’ he replied, bending forward as 
he spoke, and closing his lips over a rapturous com- 
bination of cake and syrup. 

“ Really ? What does yours say ? ” 

His mouth was too crowded for an immediate an- 
swer; but Filippa could not wait, and she con- 
tinued, — 

Mine had in it, written along the inside, 
‘ To F. W. Z.’ Those are my initials, and stand 
for Filippa Whitehouse Zabarelli. And then, after 
that, it said, ‘ God Bless the Wearer.’ ” 

For a second the boy stopped eating and regarded 
her with a look of surprise. He remembered the 
79 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

inscription well, and began to wonder how his 
father got it. 

Yes,” said Filippa ; and she nodded her head, 
accepting his surprise as the natural tribute to a bit 
of exciting news. 

But the wily youth knew his own father, and 
again drew on his armor. Turning his eyes to the 
mother, he found she also was watching him, but 
whether from a harmless interest in the conversa- 
tion or from fresh doubts as to his rightful owner- 
ship of the ring he could not discover. 

The girl repeated her question, — 

What does yours say ? ” 

Mine says, ‘ To Stephen,’ but there is nothing 
after that.” 

‘‘Who is Stephen?” 

“ Why, me of course. It was given to me.” 

Here the mother, in a voice that bore unmis- 
takable evidence of a renewed distrust, said 
rapidly, — 

“ But I thought you told me your name was 
Henry?” 

There was a pause in which the hearty eater 
seemed to have forgotten her presence. He poured 
more syrup upon his cakes. 

“ You told me your name was Henry,” she re- 
peated. 


8o 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

‘‘ Well, a feller can have two names. I know 
a boy that's got four I " 

Then your name is Stephen Henry Simmons ? " 

‘‘ Yes." 

And they call you Henry ? " 

Yes." 

And he looked her straight in the face with a 
smile which, in combination with his eyes, was ac- 
customed to disarm suspicion. But in this case the 
combination was a failure. Mrs. Zabarelli had 
found that eyes the counterpart of these could cover 
a heart too false for human safety. 

And there was something in the manner of his 
answer that put a blight upon the good opinion she 
had been laboring to establish. During the re- 
mainder of the meal she said no more to him, and 
he was sensitive to the hostile atmosphere. Filippa, 
however, chattered on at intervals until she had swal- 
lowed every morsel of her steak; and when they 
rose to go, she thanked him, at her mother's 
suggestion, and emphasized her gratitude by a 
courtesy. 

This courtesy, elaborate and un-American in char- 
acter, in which perhaps she had been drilled by her 
uncle, Signor Guglielmo Onofredo Travaggini 
Biffi Titinnio Zabarelli, was partially lost upon the 
recipient, who sat low in his chair and whose own 
8i 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

head came not far above his breakfast. Filippa’s 
face, which was about on a level with the table when 
she stood erect, disappeared entirely from his vision 
in the execution of the movement. For an instant 
he thought she had sat upon the floor; but as her 
friendly smile came up again to view, he divined 
the motive of the ceremony and nodded his acknowl- 
edgment. Her mother also thanked him politely, but 
obviously from a sense of duty. 

They had gone but a moment when Steve de- 
tected, beneath a corner of a napkin, the wallet that 
contained the watch. His eyes brightened, and 
his heart beat faster with a fresh excitement. 

Here was a find! The five dollars he now pos- 
sessed was as nothing to it! What lots of dollars 
such a watch would bring ! Through his head came 
a swift procession of the joys within his grasp. 
And he must hurry up and get away before she 
should miss it and return. 

But, along with this procession, came the memory 
of Filippa, her hunger and her cheerful little face. 
He recalled the niggardly lunch she would have 
eaten if he, the rescuer, had not been present. 
Steve frowned and bit his lip at the thought of in- 
viting a girl to breakfast, securing her friendship, 
receiving her thanks and courtesies, and then 
swiping ” the family watch. 

82 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

No! not that! He had no ambition to be good, 
but — there were limits. 

Quickly he snatched the bag, and acting upon 
an impulse of which he was secretly ashamed and 
in whose duration he had little confidence, he ran 
out of the restaurant, overtook his new acquaint- 
ances on the sidewalk, and returned the property. 
Filippa greeted him with a cordial smile, while her 
mother, with a sudden pallor, pressed a hand to her 
heart, as she realized how narrow was her escape 
from an irretrievable loss. Her expressions of 
gratitude were effusive, and she was ashamed of the 
wrong she had done him. But he waited not for 
thanks, and hurried back to his unfinished meal. 

While mortified at having yielded to a foolish im- 
pulse, his shame was tempered by the knowledge 
that several of his favorite heroes, men prominent 
in highway robbery, in piracy, and in promiscuous 
crime, had more than once, where women and chil- 
dren were involved, been equally weak. And there 
was another consolation: his father would never 
know it. 

On leaving the restaurant he experienced a sat* 
isfying solidity in welcome contrast to his recent 
emptiness. He felt more important. He was less; 
suspicious, and he took pride and pleasure in a 
brazen indifference as to whether the former owner 

83 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

of the bill might discover him or not. And Nature 
had been so thorough in Steve's physical outfit that 
he suffered no discomfort from the profusion and 
complexity of his feast. 

But later in the afternoon he encountered signs 
of trouble against which his digestion and his stolen 
money were of no avail. A sheriff, with an auc- 
tioneer, was making a list of the various objects 
that comprised his home; and before they departed 
the janitor showed the apartment to a couple of 
women who, as prospective tenants, found it ex- 
actly what they needed. 

Occupying his favorite perch, the parlor window- 
seat, while the various invaders were moving about 
from one chamber to another, he leaned out and 
looked with mournful eyes over the far-reaching 
city, with its glittering river on either side, its un- 
ceasing hum, its countless chimneys, its flags, its 
towers, and its purple distance; all familiar, and all 
so closely associated with his vanished parents that 
unmanly tears obscured his vision, and he drew a 
grimy knuckle across his eyes. It seemed now an- 
other city, less his own and not so friendly. A city 
that could swallow up two parents in a single night 
was a thing to be mistrusted. 

And far below him he looked down upon a group 
of children dancing about an organ-grinder. Faintly 
84 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

he could hear the music, a plantive little tune, which 
so intensified his loneliness that his knuckles were 
insufficient, and he was compelled to draw a sleeve 
across his cheek. 

On the following day more people inspected the 
apartment, and the preparations for an auction were 
continued. That this home was no longer his he 
realized with a saddened spirit, but from those 
about him he took every precaution to conceal his 
feelings. 

A woman who occupied a lower apartment of the 
building offered to adopt him, for the present at 
least ; and another acquaintance of his father, a man 
with no children, made a similar offer. The jani- 
tor's wife suggested an institution for orphans. 

But Steve had plans of his own. The thought 
of being adopted by a respectable family and 
brought up in a respectable way was in violation of 
every instinct of his being. He had read several 
books, and his course of reading, in which he had 
not been bothered by his parents, consisted almost 
exclusively of stories of adventure, of the lives and 
deeds of famous pugilists, pirates, train-robbers, 
burglars, and highwaymen ; and now, fired by their 
example, and unhampered by parental authority, he 
would leave school behind him and be a man at 
once. Like many sons, he had made a more careful 

85 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

Study of his father than that person had suspected. 
His knowledge of what Mr. Wadsworth alluded to 
as his business ’’ was of course somewhat un- 
defined, but for his father’s character and methods, 
so far as he could know them, his admiration was 
unbounded. From association with this parent and 
from a natural bent, Steve had developed some 
clear ideas upon humanity, and upon the world at 
large. Without defining this philosophy himself 
he classified mankind into two divisions, — 

Those who possessed wit and courage. 

Those who were honest. 

That the latter should be the prey of their more 
interesting brethren was a conclusion requiring no 
argument. For the honest ones, the ‘‘ suckers,” — 
he enjoyed an amiable but distinct contempt, and 
he had no intention of serving in their ranks. The 
police, of course, were the natural enemies of 
progress. 

In accordance with these beliefs he outlined his 
own career, and decided upon immediate action. 
As a preliminary detail he communed with Davey 
Knox. Davey’s tastes and moral outfit bore a 
dull resemblance to his ovm, and they decided to 
see the world together. While Davey was by no 
means Steve’s conception of a hero, he was the 
only boy available. Steve knew him to be a liar 
86 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 


and a thief, both of which were needed in the life 
before them; he also knew him to be a coward, and 
for this he despised him. But in enterprises where 
virtue is a hindrance, one must not be too punctilious 
as to associates. 


87 


V 


T he glory of a perfect day descended as 
with a special blessing upon a church 
at Lynstock. This sanctuary, not a 
hundred miles from New York, held the centre of a 
faultless lawn, and was of simple but satisfying 
architecture. The material was of hammered stone. 
Occupying the choicest site in the choicest of New 
England villages, it sheltered this August Sunday, 
— as on other Sundays, — the choicest people. 

Other sanctuaries, resorts of promiscuous out- 
siders, were scattered along the village, all of wood, 
old-fashioned and painted white, with massive 
columns of a heathen pattern; but those who by 
especial purity had achieved a closer friendship with 
the Lord were ensconced in this Episcopal temple. 
Not only were the worshippers themselves of finer 
clay, but all their belongings gave token of a 
similar excellence. Even the row of carriages 
beneath the shadowing elms across the way bore 
outward evidence of the loftiest aims. In fact, a 
88 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 


comparison of these blameless equipages with the 
cheaper vehicles about the other shrines offered 
convincing testimony as to which religion was the 
safest guide. 

Within this temple the atmosphere was yet more 
decorous. All stained glass, all mural decorations 
and other fittings were, like the members of the 
congregation, expensively quiet and in perfect taste. 
And the congregation, while comporting itself with 
the impressiveness of a piety above reproach, gave 
evidence of that satisfying holiness born only of 
solid opulence and correct attire. Concerning the 
celestial prospects of those present, there was, if one 
could judge by appearances, no cause for alarm. 

The painted heads of the twelve apostles above 
the pulpit bore a troubled air, as if abashed by an 
unmerited patronage. They suspected perhaps, this 
dozen common men, the irony of their present 
elevation. They may have compared it with their 
probable reception had they presented themselves 
in the flesh at the mansions of the cautious worship- 
pers in the pews below. , The episcopacy of these 
worshippers was the result of inheritance and en- 
vironment. Another and a different religion, if 
indorsed by the proper persons, would have been 
adopted with the same complacency and main- 
tained with the same decision. 

89 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 


Upon this occasion there were, as usual, fewer 
men than women. Nearly every pew was occupied, 
for the clergyman was a preacher of distinction. 
He was a man about fifty years of age, large of 
frame, with a massive head and somewhat heavy 
features. In his hair, carelessly arranged and ob- 
viously with little heed from its owner, were shades 
of gray. His skin, partly from exposure, was 
brown and rather dark; his eyes were also brown, 
and with their heavy lids and straight eyebrows high 
above, gave an impression of repose and strength. 
A certain awkwardness of figure was intensified by 
the shortness of his neck and by a roundness about 
the shoulders. 

He had been speaking in a general way of the 
duties of life and of the obligations of wealth, and 
he expressed himself with a clearness and decision 
that drove languor from the eyelids of every Crcesus 
in the church. If there previously existed, in the 
minds of the present congregation, any doubt or 
mystery as to why the average millionaire, although 
envied for his wealth, was not an object of affec- 
tion among the poor, he now removed it. His 
language was not ambiguous. His voice, rich, 
full, and finely modulated, held the attention of 
every person in the building. 

And the building had seldom been so crowded. 
90 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 


For Dr. Thorne was not only a preacher of singular 
eloquence, but his life and character had given him 
an exceptional position. Although a native of the 
town, and the personal friend of many in the con- 
gregation, he seldom occupied this pulpit. His own 
pastorate, one of the richest and most influential 
in New York, he had resigned the previous winter, 
in the belief that he could be of greater usefulness 
in other and quite different fields. 

But this calling to account of millionaires was in- 
cidental. It served, however, even if its effects were 
temporary, to arouse the attention and disturb the 
peace of certain members of the congregation. For 
Dr. Thorne knew his fellow-men, and he knew too 
well that threats of future brimstone or guarantee 
of heavenly recompense would never startle Midas. 

As the sermon proceeded, it became evident, from 
the silence throughout the church and from the 
vigilance of his listeners, that something of more 
than ordinary interest was before them. The older 
men were surprised, and followed him with straining 
ears to be sure they heard aright. The younger men 
received his words in a similar spirit, but with faces 
reflecting the earnestness and, at times, the en- 
thusiasm of the speaker. But every woman, old or 
young, took in his words with eager interest and 
with brightening eyes. And this surprise and in- 

91 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 


terest were augmented by the knowledge that Dr. 
Thorne was not a person of careless impulse or 
unconsidered speech, but a man of large experience 
and of sober judgment. 

The remarks which were causing this unwonted 
consideration related to the advent of our Saviour. 
After asserting, not as a theological deduction but as 
an authenticated fact, that Christ had appeared upon 
the earth at various epochs since the Crucifixion, he 
went on to explain why such appearances were in 
perfect harmony with His life and precepts, and, if 
thoughtfully considered, need cause no surprise. All 
who believed in the immortality of the soul believed 
that Christ, though crucified, would ever remain a 
living entity. And if this be true, he argued, it 
certainly is not in accordance with our conception 
of His character that during these centuries of hu- 
man doubt and human suffering He, whose mission 
it was to console and guide, should remain an in- 
different observer. 

‘‘ His life and teachings,’’ he continued, were 
not those of one who holds himself aloof^ in frigid 
state, ignoring the prayers, the hopes, the lives and 
deaths of countless millions of his followers. More- 
over, if sent among us by a benevolent Creator upon 
so stupendous a duty as the redemption of mankind, 
such a duty, if begun in earnest, would never be 
92 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

abandoned after one brief experiment, and at a time 
when three-quarters of the earth was yet unpeopled. 
Were the future millions yet unborn to rely, during 
twenty centuries at least, upon translations from an 
unspoken language, for a word from their Re- 
deemer? ’’ 

He continued in calm but impressive tones : 
‘‘If Christ’s spoken words, if His personality or 
His living presence, are needful to those wavering in 
their allegiance, if a sign will save them, — is that 
sign to be withheld? If we may believe His own 
words. He considered faith of first importance. If 
we honestly believe in His previous coming, why 
doubt the coming of to-day? ” 

Thus far the listeners throughout the church had 
followed him with attentive interest. This interest 
became keener and more alert when Dr. Thorne, 
with the calm conviction of one who knows whereof 
he speaks, declared that Christ had revisited this 
earth not once, but many times, — in our own day, 
and here, in our own land, — not in spirit only, but 
bodily, as a fellow-man; that He had cheered the 
despairing, encouraged the weak, and given life and 
hope to those whose burdens were greater than their 
strength. 

And there swept through the congregation a fresh 
emotion, as they received the statement that the 
93 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

speaker himself, if at liberty to do so, could produce 
a witness, a personal friend of many now before him, 
who had been this very year in the presence of our 
Lord. Moreover, this Presence was no illusion, nor 
the dream of a man in sickness who mistook for 
realities the products of his own imagination. He 
had felt the touch of a soothing hand, and received 
words from living lips that turned the current of 
his life. 

This announcement was received in solemn 
silence. Not the rustle of a gown or the move- 
ment of a fan disturbed the stillness of the church. 
But, as Dr. Thorne knew well, there were many who 
would deny his testimony and deride his faith. 
Among these was a gentleman of sixty or there- 
abouts, with blooming face and serene expression, 
whose speculative eyes and whose whiskers, snowy 
but alert, gave hints of what he was, — a person 
of importance. Leisurely he turned his head and 
looked across the aisle. Meeting the glance of 
another financial triumph, not unlike himself in ex- 
pression, in raiment, and in years, he slowly raised 
his eyebrows, — the fraction of an inch, — and in 
so doing conveyed distinctly, as in words, his opin- 
ion of the parson. 

But Dr. Thorne, in that respect, was under no 
illusion. He was not making this effort with any 
94 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

hope of penetrating the heart of capital. Too well 
he knew and understood the impregnable golden 
armor of certain members in this congregation. 
There were others, however, who by recent afflic- 
tion, by trials beyond their force, or by a hopeless 
sorrow, had come nearer the portals of that other 
world; and to these, by look, by meaning, and by 
brotherly compassion, he spoke, and not in vain. 

The sermon, calmly and impressively delivered, 
proceeded to the end, and notwithstanding its 
purport brought conviction to certain of its hearers. 
For to these there was evidence of something more 
than theory coming thus from one of large ex- 
perience, whose truth and honor were above re- 
proach. 

After the service certain friends and acquaint- 
ances remained, — some to congratulate him' upon 
his sermon, others to ask a question or to express 
their regret at the rarity of his visits. Most of them 
were women, representing various degrees of en- 
thusiasm or of religious fervor, or of curiosity and 
friendly interest; but all, even those who fluttered 
and gushed with a graceful excitement, were self- 
possessed and faultless in attire. One or two were 
patronizing, not with intent, but from force of habit. 

Dr. Thorne received this shower of words with 
outward gratitude and with his usual composure. 
95 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 


This composure bore a faint resemblance to that 
patience with which a Saint Bernard allows kit- 
tens to scramble over his back. They may tickle or 
annoy, but he takes them for what they are. As 
to inquiries concerning the subject of his sermon, 
he turned them aside politely, but with decision, 
replying, in answer to the most frequent question, 
that the person referred to wished no publicity. 

There was another gentleman present who also 
received attention, and from its quality he appeared 
a person of distinction. Moreover, he bore himself 
as one accustomed to receive this sort of tribute. 
While more impressive in his manner than Dr. 
Thorne, it was evident, nevertheless, that these at- 
tentions caused him far more pleasure than an- 
noyance. But this pleasure was suitably repressed, 
and even stately. No human being would have pre- 
sumed upon it. 

He was a bishop, not only by terrestrial appoint- 
ment, but, obviously, by design of his Creator. He 
had the manner and expression, the mouth and 
voice, the bearing, the head and legs, and the cheer- 
ful gravity of a bishop. No attribute was wanting. 
He was of suitable height, erect, bald-headed, well 
nourished, and impressive. His features were regu- 
lar, and his honesty unquestioned. He was in- 
tellectual, considerate, and always gracious. 

96 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

Bishop Thorne, although at present on his sum- 
mer visit from his diocese in a neighboring State, 
was a native of Lynstock and cousin of the doctor. 
They had played together as boys, and knew each 
other well. 

When the last lingerer had departed, leaving 
these two alone, standing together near the pulpit, 
the bishop congratulated his cousin upon the effect 
his eloquence had produced. 

“ That’s a splendid sermon. Will, and it makes 
one regret more than ever your desertion of the 
pulpit.” 

“ It was a false position.” ^ 

‘‘ So you have said before, but you are too punc- 
tilious. Your point of view is from too dizzy an/ 
altitude. Give your conscience a vacation and for- 
get the creed. Our duty is to the greatest number, 
not to ourselves.” 

Dr. Thorne turned his eyes with a sidelong look 
toward the bishop, and asked, 

“ So you think it becoming in a follower of 
Christ to occupy a pulpit whose creed he outwardly 
accepts and inwardly denies ? ” 

The bishop turned partly away, and studied the 
heads of the apostles. 

“ Your case is exceptional.” 

‘‘ But my life, nevertheless, would be a living lie.” 

97 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

It would be a most charitable lie and of infinite 
value.” 

Dr. Thorne regarded his companion with a 
friendly frown. 

‘‘ Since when have you become a follower of 
Ignatius? ” 

“ Not at all, but our endeavor should be for the 
greatest good of the greatest number.” Here the 
bishop looked about and lowered his voice. “ If all 
of us who denied the creed should desert the church, 
where would our followers be ? ” 

“ Where they ought to be, — among the followers 
of a simpler faith.” 

They moved toward the door, and the bishop re- 
iterated his argument. 

“ No,” he said. ** You are the victim of an ab- 
normal conscience. Your arguments fail to justify 
your course. Such eloquence as yours should not 
be wasted. It was not given you to be buried. If 
you take our Saviour as your model — and I know 
you do — you should remember that in giving His 
life to mankind He was influenced by no details of 
creed.” 

Dr. Thorne stopped and confronted his cousin. 

Do you think,” he answered, slightly raising 
his chin, and regarding the bishop with a lowering 
of the heavy eyelids which failed, however, to cover 
98 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

a gleam of irony beneath — “ do you think that if ohr 
Saviour were alive to-day He would give His time 
and energy to a select and fashionable congregation 
of high-church Episcopalians ? ” 

Thoughtfully the bishop lowered his head, then 
answered, — 

“ No.” 

Along the village street they walked, Dr. Thorne 
with a lunging gait, his head bent forward and the 
heavy shoulders swinging as if ploughing through 
a crowd. The bishop, dignified, erect, immaculate, 
and evangelical, avoided instinctively all inequalities 
of the path, and stubbed his toes against no ob- 
stacles in the way. 

At the gate before a large, old-fashioned resi- 
dence they parted, Dr. Thorne continuing on his 
way, out into the open country beyond the vil- 
lage. 

The road took a wandering course between 
fields and pastures, with patches of wood at in- 
tervals, where the shade, on a day like this, gave a 
welcome refuge. Heavily but rapidly the pedes- 
trian trudged along, and the town was soon a mile 
behind him. To his right were straggling woods 
and rocky pastures with the Berkshire hills be- 
yond. 

But on his left the fields and smoother pastures 

99 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 


sloped gently to a wooded valley, where the eye 
could follow, along the tree-tops, the meanderings 
of a water-course. Across this valley, up the long 
sweep of open country, there came to-day a refresh- 
ing breeze. 

Our traveller halted by the way to gather clover 
blossoms; and it was evident, by the dexterity with 
which he bound them by a blade of grass, that his 
huge fingers were no strangers to the task. 

His thoughts, as he gave the finishing touches to 
this simple offering, went backward nearly thirty 
years to a period in which a woman was the central 
figure of his life, — a slender woman, light-haired 
and frail, with laughing lips, who loved this fra- 
grance; and who, as they walked together, would 
stop, and, standing still with eyes half closed, in- 
hale the clover-laden air and repeat for the hun- 
dredth time, How I love it ! ” 

And he, when returning from a walk, always 
presented her with specimens of this plant. 

Their married life was short, six years or less; 
and now, with the clover to his lips, the cool breeze 
against his cheeks, he lived again the vanished 
years. 

With a deep breath he looked up at the sky, then 
over at the distant hills, and, turning back into the 
road, he renewed his march. 


100 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

Farther on, where a wood path joined the high- 
way, lay a curious little graveyard of the type 
familiar to New England. Raised above the road 
by a wall that served as a terrace, it was partly hid- 
den by a row of hemlocks. Toward the entrance, 
along the wood path, the doctor turned mechani- 
cally, as one familiar with the way. Ascending 
some granite steps, rough hewn and forced asunder 
by a century of frosts, where weeds and wild-flow- 
ers in rank luxuriance filled the gaping joints, he 
paused a moment in the shadow of two weather- 
beaten hemlocks that stood, like forgotten sentinels, 
on a thankless duty. He pushed his hat from his 
brow, and the soft breeze from the valley beat gently 
against his face as he regarded, \vith friendly 
interest, two scolding squirrels in the branches 
above who appeared annoyed at this intru- 
sion. 

The quaint, uncared-for little cemetery covered 
less than an acre. Youthful pines and birches 
sprouted here and there among the graves; birds 
sang and fluttered in the sunlight, perching upon 
the mossy headstones as if no saddening thoughts 
held precedence in that garden. Toward the 
centre, winding among the graves and headstones, 
ran a narrow path. The feet that made this path 
.were Dr. Thorne’s. 


lOI 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 


Again he trod it to its termination beside a grave, 
not unlike the others, but whose headstone was less 
ancient than its neighbors. Here, a broken-hearted 
man, he had laid his wife, more than twenty years 
ago. 

Slowly, and with his usual clumsiness, he lowered 
his bulky form and knelt beside the mound. Two 
yellow butterflies, resplendent in the summer sun, 
reeled carelessly away as he removed a bunch of 
withered clover from the grave and replaced it 
with the fresher one of to-day. With some pre- 
cision he arranged his offering, and then, with 
downcast face and dreaming eyes recalled dis- 
tinctly as if yesterday — for these memories, from 
frequent invitation, came willingly, as familiar 
friends — the last time he saw her face and heard 
her voice. He had alighted from the buggy at 
the little station at Lynstock, and as he reached for- 
ward for his valise, she laid her hand on his and 
whispered, with tearful eyes, but with a smile half 
jesting, half sad, ‘‘ When you open this bag to- 
night, I shall be inside.^^ 

And when, at a distant city, he unfolded a certain 
garment for the night, he found in a button-hole 
of the bosom a bunch of clover. As he stood 
smiling, the welcome messengers to his lips, there 
came a knock at the door and he received the tele- 


102 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

gram which told him the hands that plucked the 
flowers were forever still. 

These scenes, and others similar, he had lived so 
many times that his wife, beside whose grave he 
knelt, had ever remained not only an unfading 
memory, but a living influence. Recollections 
which once had crushed him with an unbearable 
regret had now become a pleasure, — a saddening 
pleasure, perhaps, but soothing; and a pleasure of 
which he never tired. 

From this journey into the past he was sud- 
denly recalled by a voice, sharp and imperious, 
close beside him. 

“ Throw up your hands ! ” 

Startled, and still upon his knees, he turned par- 
tially around, and confronted, within a yard of his 
face, the muzzle of a revolver. Behind this weapon, 
at arm’s length, stood a boy whose appearance pre- 
sented so much that was contradictory that the 
kneeling victim, in the novelty of the situation, for- 
got his danger. The robber, not a dozen years of 
age, stood firmly upon his straddling legs, with 
obvious intent to convey a terrifying impression of 
ruthlessness and ferocity. 

But there was something in his face, particularly 
about the eyes, so uniquely honest and so out of 
harmony with the belt of cartridges, the rakish hat 
103 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

with its upturned brim, and the pitiless contraction 
of the eyebrows, that Dr. Thorne forgot to raise 
his arms. Instead, he gazed calmly into the vir- 
tuous eyes that from behind the pistol as calmly met 
his own. 

‘‘ Throw up your hands ! came again from the 
boyish lips and in a boyish voice; and Dr. Thorne, 
with a touch of alarm, observed that the revolver 
w^as cocked, with a bullet in every chamber. But 
instead of throwing up his hands, he climbed slowly 
to his feet, and, as he did so, he noticed another boy 
in the background, off nearer the entrance to the 
enclosure. This second boy, as their eyes met, 
edged back toward the steps in a manner that left 
‘no doubt as to the suddenness of his disappearance 
in case of danger. As the preacher glanced down 
again at the more courageous desperado who stood 
defiantly before him, he acted swiftly upon a 
strategic idea as it came into his head. Looking off 
toward the retreating comrade, he said, — 

‘‘ Your friend is deserting you.’’ 

As the boy instinctively turned his head to verify 
the evil tidings, Dr. Thorne, with one step forward, 
knocked the pistol from his hand. The blow dis- 
charged it, and the sharp report seemed a prof- 
anation of the silent acre. He heard, within a 
foot of his ear, the whistle of the bullet. Before 
104 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

the boy could recover himself he was seized by the 
arm and shoulder. 

‘‘ So it was really loaded, you rascal ! ’’ and he 
gave the figure in his grasp a violent shake. He 
was surprised, in the boy’s struggle to free him- 
self, at the strength and energy of his youthful 
captive. But no struggling could avail in such a 
grip, and the would-be robber after one or two 
efforts stood quiet — but unresigned. 

Don’t you know better than to handle loaded 
weapons in that way? It’s a wonder you didn’t 
kill me.” 

There was no reply. 

“ Do you want to be hanged for murder ? ” 

After a moment’s reflection, as if the question 
required a cautious answer, the boy replied, with 
enough bravado to show the enemy he was still un- 
terrified, — 

No, sir, not right off.” 

The doctor turned him about, and looked down 
into his face. As he met the cool, gray, truthful 
eyes, he felt convinced that he was the victim of a 
childish folly. 

Off in the highway, as fast as his legs could 
take him, he noticed the reserve guard travelling 
feverishly to the westward. He could not resist a 
smile. 


105 


Dr Thorn^J^s Idea 

** Your friend knows where he is safe, and he 
means to get there. You would better follow his 
example if you ever have the chance.'' 

The prisoner also looked in that direction, then 
muttered with a measureless contempt : Ho ! 

Davey always was a coward! He oughter been a 
girl ! " 

The doctor for an instant thought of resenting 
this slur upon the other sex, but instead, he offered 
terms to the enemy. 

^Hf I let you go will you promise to behave 
better, and not play with loaded pistols in the 
future ? " 

Yes, I promise." 

“ You give me your word of honor? " 

“ Yes, sir." 

As he released his grip and took a backward step, 
the boy sprang toward the pistol, snatched it from 
the grass, cocked it, and levelled it again toward the 
figure before him. 

“Now, who's ahead?" he exclaimed. “This 
time you throw up your hands, or I'll fire it ! " 

But the hands were not thrown up. The massive 
head drooped slowly forward, and two calm, brown 
eyes rested mournfully upon the speaker. Re- 
proachfully and without anger he looked into the 
triumphant face. 


io6 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

“ So your promise goes for nothing ! You 
should have been a sneak thief or a pick-pocket; not 
an open robber. I have always understood that 
famous robbers had some self-respect, some regard 
for their word of honor.” 

Over the villain's face came a flush of color. 
Shame and indignation took the place of triumph, 
and the eyes wavered. There was an inward 
struggle, as easily read by the man before him as 
from an open book. Lowering the revolver, he 
turned it about, holding the muzzle toward himself, 
then stepped forward and presented it to his tower- 
ing victor. In an uneven voice, and with a strong 
effort to repress the quivering of a lip, he mumbled 
hurriedly, — 

I’m not a sneak thief! Take it yourself! I 
don’t want it ! ” 

Dr. Thorne took the weapon, carefully pointed it 
in another direction as he lowered the hammer, then 
returned it to the owner, saying, — 

‘‘ As we both are men of honor, it doesn’t matter 
who keeps the pistol.” 

Five minutes later they were sitting in the shade 
of the two hemlocks, each upon one of the low 
granite blocks at the entrance of the cemetery. 
Here it was cooler, and Dr. Thorne laid his hat be- 
side him, and drew his handkerchief across his 
107 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 


brow; for there had been a certain excitement 
in the recent episode, and the heat, out there in 
the sun, was penetrating. As the boy sat oppo- 
site, his feet just clearing the ground, the clery- 
man suspected, from the soiled collar and wrist- 
bands, the long red stockings worn through at 
the knees, and the shoes which appeared first to have 
received a soaking, then to have travelled many 
miles over a dusty road, that his vis-a-vis had found 
that wealth and luxury were not infallible accom- 
paniments to a robber’s life. 

** Do your parents live in Lynstock ? ” 

No, sir. I don’t know where that is.” 

“ Why, this is Lynstock. You are in it now.” 

The boy nodded carelessly, accepting the state- 
ment, but taking no interest in the village or in its 
name. 

‘‘ Where do they live, your parents ? ” 

“ I don’t know.” 

You don’t know where your parents live? ” 

‘‘ No, sir. They both cleared out, and I don’t 
know where.” His eyes rested calmly upon the 
questioner, yet with a certain watchfulness. 

“ What is your name ? ” 

The youth hesitated, but decided this time tc^tell 
the truth. 

Stephen Wadsworth.” 

io8 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

“ And your home ? When did you come from 
home?” 

‘‘ I came from New York, me and Davey to- 
gether, but the home was rented to somebody 
else.” 

As he spoke, he broke off a stem of milkweed, 
and appeared surprised at the white liquid within, 
and at its stickiness. His friend noticed it. 

You have not lived in the country much.” 

“ No, sir.” 

‘‘ Where did you sleep last night ? ” 

In the porch of a house, off there ; ” and he 
pointed over the valley to the west of the village. 
“ And the night before that we slept in a swell 
stable. Climbed through the winder, and had bully 
beds on the carriage cushions. We hooked a ride 
on a freight train to that place; and if the brake- 
man hadn’t spotted us, we’d have gone a lot 
further.” 

Your friend is still going farther, and in a 
hurry.” 

‘‘ Oh, he’s no use ! He went back on me yester- 
day, and he would again. I shan’t go after him 
much. He’s wanted to back out and go home ever 
since we started. Now he can do it. He ain’t no 
use — he is no use.” 

This correction of faulty grammar led the 
109 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

preacher to believe that the stranger had quitted a 
more refined and educated home than was indi- 
cated by his present calling. 

“ Perhaps your father is a professional man.” 

I guess he is.” 

** A clergyman.” 

Not much ! ” was retorted emphatically, as one 
resents an injustice. ‘‘ He’s an all-around sport.” 

‘‘What does he do?” 

“ I don’t know exactly. I never saw him do 
it.” 

The questioner inferred from the manner of this 
reply that it was intentionally ambiguous. 

“ Tell me why you boys selected Lynstock for a 
visit.” 

“ Oh, just the same as the other places, — to hold 
folks up, and so forth.” 

“Then you are a professional robber?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

Dr. Thorne’s face expressed neither surprise nor 
disapproval. His glance wandered calmly away 
among the gravestones, as if professional robbers 
were his daily associates, the companions of his 
choice. When he looked again into the eyes which 
by their exceeding goodness persistently gave the lie 
to the noxious sentiments of their owner, he smiled 
pleasantly, and said, — - 


no 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

‘^When you have had more experience in this 
particular field of crime, you will select your victims 
with sounder judgment. The idea of waylaying a 
preacher on his way from church! They never 
have money. You might as well ‘ hold up ' one of 
the oxen in the pasture.” 

You’ve got a watch.” 

“ True. But you would not rob a peaceable, hard- 
working minister of his only treasure.” 

The highwayman for an instant showed a slight 
embarrassment, but, quickly recovering himself, he 
answered with studied indifference, as he tossed 
a pebble down the granite steps: 

Of course I would! Business is business.” 

Dr. Thorne was too experienced to risk a moral 
discourse at this stage of an acquaintance. After 
a moment’s silence he asked: 

** Have you been to breakfast ? ” 

Yes, sir, back in that other town.” 

Was it a good one? ” 

The traveller kicked his heels indifferently against 
the granite block, and inserted a spear of grass 
between his lips before he answered: 

Good enough.” 

Do you mind telling me what you had ? ” 

Some apples.” 

Apples! They must have been green ones.” 

Ill 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 


“ Sort of.” 

The doctor took out his watch. 

My dinner is all ready and waiting for me. 
Won’t you come and share it? I should like very 
much to have you.” 

As he spoke, he felt the gaze of the robber fixed 
intently upon him as if suspecting treachery. 

** I guess not. I must be goin’.” 

‘‘ Where are you going? ” 

“ Off there,” pointing to the east. ‘‘To the wild 
west, where the fun is ; ” and he slid from his seat 
and stood up. 

The clergyman also arose and put on his hat. 

“ I will make a bargain with you. If you come 
home with me and spend the night, I will have your 
shirt washed and give you a new pair of stockings.” 

The boy looked suspiciously into his face, then 
lowered his eyes and bestowed careful attention to 
a hole he was digging in the turf with the toe of his 
boot. During the pause one of the squirrels in the 
branches above uttered a final protest, then retired 
to the inner apartments of his home. 

“Well, what do you say?” 

The traveller seemed embarrassed. With a side- 
long look he asked, — 

“ Where do you come in? ” 

“ I shall have the pleasure of doing my share to- 

II2 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 


ward establishing a pleasant friendship. It seems 
to me that a solid friendship after so unpromising 
an introduction is a thing to celebrate.” 

The highwayman returned the smile with which 
this was spoken, but his doubts were not allayed. 

‘‘ You will hold on to me and not let me go.” 

** I give you my word of honor you shall leave 
whenever you wish. I am telling you the truth. 
I like you and wish to know you better. Of course, 
as a clergyman, I cannot indorse the profession you 
have chosen, but I like your spirit; and — as far as 
I can judge — I like your character. Come. Let us 
go home and celebrate ; ” and he held out his hand. 

Stephen looked up for a second into the heavy, 
benevolent face, then stepped forward and laid his 
grimy hand upon the extended palm. 

‘‘ All right.” 

Five big, fat fingers closed about it with a hearty 
grasp, the grasp of that unwavering friendship 
that loves us for our virtues and forgives our faults. 


VI 


A cross the fields, a shorter cut than by the 
highway, Dr. Thorne returned to the 
village, gleaning, as he went, bits of per- 
sonal history from his new acquaintance; and the 
more he learned of his antecedents, the less he 
marvelled at results. 

As they emerged upon the main avenue from a 
neighbor’s yard, Steve was awed by the prevailing 
silence. To this New Yorker who had rarely es- 
caped from the noise and bustle of his native city, 
the wide, empty street with its overhanging trees, 
and the houses, cheerful and prosperous but with 
no outward signs of human life, all gave the im- 
pression of a deserted settlement; of something 
mortuary and forgotten. 

Stopping before a low old-fashioned gate, painted 
white, like the fence on either side. Dr Thorne held 
it open for his guest to enter. Stephen found 
himself on a gravel walk, at the other end of which, 
some twenty yards away, stood a long, low house, 
also white but nearly covered with vines. 

114 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

Along the borders of this walk were strips of 
box, nearly up to his waist; dark, impenetrable and 
fragrant. And behind these little hedges, in wild, 
disorderly profusion, flashed a sea of flowers, of all 
the colors in the universe, now dazzling beneath 
the summer sun. They were very tall, some higher 
than his head. Hollyhocks and roses, pink peonies 
and lark-spur, sweet peas, nasturtiums, foxglove 
and poppies, smiled — or rather laughed — all hud- 
dled together, an orgy of blinding color. 

Bees buzzed, some drunk and others sober ; while 
casual humming-birds, in the abandonment of friv- 
olity, reeled gleefully from flower to flower. 

Steve blinked, and instinctively took a long, deep 
breath of an intoxicant the like of which had never 
figured in his dreams; for no such odors could 
have survived a journey to the Wadsworth flat. 
Rich, overladen with perfumes, — mignonette in the 
ascendant, — it stole into his brain and seemed to lift 
him up. To be sure, he was bad, too bad for honest 
boys to play with, but his imagination was young 
and active, and this flood that poured into his 
soul, a flood of gentleness and delight, — what was 
it? 

Could this be fairy-land ? 

Every sense seemed tingling into a new exist- 
ence. With a touch he could have floated to the 

115 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 


clouds. He forgot his body and his legs, his pistol, 
his empty stomach, and the joys of crime. 

But this transformation was only temporary. 
With his host by his side he trod the gravel walk 
toward the house, and when half-way there, from 
among the flowers close beside the path, arose the 
head and shoulders of a radiant woman. Her hair 
was golden, and the sunshine seemed to form a halo 
round about it. She wore a dress of white, and in 
her hands were pinks. Steve halted again. 

This must be the fairy of the garden! 

So light and dainty was this figure, among the 
many colors, that had Stephen been a man he would 
have strode in and plucked her with the other 
flowers. To him it was a novel type, the delicate, 
sensitive face with the large brown eyes, at once 
cheerful and sad, and the mouth ever ready to 
smile, yet with signs of trouble about the cor- 
ners. 

‘‘Why, papa! You ought to be ashamed of 
yourself ! You are awfully late for dinner ! ” 

And as she stepped out upon the walk through 
an opening in the box, she saw the boy and nodded 
a smiling welcome. 

“ This is a guest I have brought to visit you, 
Bessie; a friend of mine who will dine with us.” 

She said pleasant things with a pleasant smile, 
ii6 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

and made him feel at home; and as she adjusted a 
pink in the buttonhole of his jacket, Stephen ex- 
perienced yet another sensation, more novel and 
overpowering than the other. 

He fell in love. 

It was sudden, but no passion was ever more 
complete; that is, of course, no love of boy for 
a woman twice his age. He was eleven and she was 
twenty-six, but to every boy this is liable to occur; 
and with Stephen it was an overwhelming sensa- 
tion. He drank her in with bashful eyes. Her 
gentle face and voice and manner were to him a 
revelation. And he saw, without defining it, an 
expression about her eyes and mouth that suggested 
sorrow, with a brave resolve to appear more cheer- 
ful than she felt. 

The only woman with whom Stephen thus far 
had been on terms of intimacy was his mother, and 
between the two there was little resemblance. This 
lady's hair was a quieter yellow; not selected by 
herself, but fully as effective: there was no paint 
upon her cheeks, nor artificial emphasis about the 
eyes. Her raiment also was less conspicuous. His 
mother, taller and more majestic, could easily have 
vanquished this person in a struggle, but by this he 
did not allow himself to be prejudiced. He real- 
ized, instinctively, that the virtues of his inamorata 
117 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

were virtues of another nature, and to be judged 
from a different standpoint. 

She led him upstairs to an orderly chamber, — 
unlike his own, — supervised the washing of his face 
and hands, and scolded him with an affectionate 
smile for having his hair too short to brush. It 
was a fighting cut, and showed every contour of his 
head. And during all he was dumb, like a fool, 
giving the briefest answers to her friendly ques- 
tions. He felt a pleasant thrill whenever her fingers 
touched him, and yearned for an opportunity to 
show her what he really was, — to rescue her from 
some frightful danger. If a hundred redskins would 
only pounce into the room to scalp and kill her, that 
he, with her trembling form in his arms, might lay 
them low in quick succession, he would have been 
supremely happy. To win her admiration was his 
chief desire. But at present he saw no prospect of 
achieving it. These times of peace, for men of 
action, were far from satisfying. 

This house of Dr. Thorne's was built in the pre- 
ceding century by an ancestor of Revolutionary 
fame. The dining-room, long and narrow, with 
all its windows at the end, had, like the rest of the 
house, a low ceiling. When Stephen entered, under 
Bessie's guidance, the outer blinds were closed, and 
the light at first seemed dim and insufficient; but 

ii8 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

he saw Dr. Thorne at one end of the table, back to 
the windows. At the other end sat an elderly wo- 
man, stout and in a light dress. She took his hand 
and held it in her own for a moment, while she 
said, in a low but decided voice, rapidly and with a 
pleasant smile, — 

So you are Mr. Wadsworth. Well, you are a 
good boy; I can see that. And you look as if the 
wind wouldn’t blow you over. Gracious ! what 
truthful eyes ! Why, it’s better than going to Sun- 
day-school just to look into them. Sit down there, 
in that place — next to Dr. Thorne, and eat a good 
dinner.” 

Stephen looked into her own eyes as she spoke, 
and saw they were small, black, and very sharp. 
The flesh at the corners was drawn up in little 
wrinkles in such a manner as to render it uncertain 
whether she was simply smiling or perusing your 
own thoughts. Her face seemed pale, but not with 
the pallor of disease, for Aunt Lorinda, now in her 
seventy-sixth year, had always enjoyed the very 
best of health, and thus far there were no indications 
of a change. She appeared about fifty. As to bod- 
ily vigor and mental energy, she was still in her 
youth. 

Stephen sat in the chair indicated, and, being 
bountifully helped by his host, proceeded to manifest 
119 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 


his appreciation of the food with the celerity and 
disregard of consequences peculiar to shipwrecked 
mariners and to growing boys. There was con- 
versation while he ate; but he took little interest, 
only speaking when questioned. And the answers 
were brief. 

While waiting for the dessert, he noticed a vacant 
chair opposite his own, and he wondered who was 
to sit in it. He also took long breaths of the per- 
fumes wafted through the house from the old gar- 
den in front. 

Glad he was that he had come. He looked fur- 
tively once or twice at the heavenly being beside 
him, and his love grew stronger with each glance. 
Perhaps these people would let him remain here 
always. He would do heroic things, and she would 
be sure to like him! 

Aunt Lorinda he also watched, and with increas- 
ing interest. Her manner was that of a very young 
person, — not affected, but wide-awake and amusing. 
In conversation she seemed courageous and em- 
phatic, and there was never a doubt of her meaning. 
Her remarks must have been funny, for both Dr. 
Thorne and Bessie often laughed at what she said. 
Although a little afraid of her at first, he soon began 
to like her. 

After helping to the dessert — ^the richest and most 
120 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

satisfying blueberry-pudding the guest had ever 
tasted — she leaned back and said, — 

“ That was a splendid sermon this morning, 
William. It made an impression, but of course 
there are many who can’t believe it.” 

“Of course,” said Dr. Thorne. “ I expect that. 
It is a hard thing to believe — without preparation.”^ 
“ And while I can’t quite believe it myself,” said 
Aunt Lorinda, “ it irritates me to have others doubt 
it. This morning in the vestibule, coming out, 
Peter Upham was just behind me, and — ” 

“ Peter Upham ? ” inquired Bessie, “ that horrid 
Peter Upham, — ^Jennie’s father, with the funny 
eyes ? ” 

“ Yes, and the eyes are still his. Two little 
oysters, each with a green pea in the middle. And 
a mouth like a bullfrog’s — only bigger and looser. 
His voice, when he lowers it, is like a storm at sea. 
You know his kind of piety, — that damns all who 
differ. I am sure he patronizes the Almighty when 
they are alone together. Well, this morning, com- 
ing out, he was just behind me. I heard him say in 
his lowest voice, — a voice that shook the windows 
and bent the elms beyond the Common : ‘ A most 
eloquent sermon, but although of a religious nature 
myself, I am constrained to say that somebody has 
been stuffing Dr. Thorne.’ Well, at first I thought 
I2I 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 


of jamming my parasol into his mouth and opening 
it, but it’s a new parasol. He saw me just as he 
finished, and began a rigmarole of pompous ex- 
planations.” 

Dr. Thorne looked troubled and shook his head. / 
Peter is sensitive, and I hope you didn’t make it 
unpleasant for him.” 

Aunt Lorinda, with more wrinkles about her 
eyes, replied, — 

‘‘ No, not particularly. I only told him he was 
not the first Peter who had gone back on the Lord.” 

Dr. Thorne frowned sadly as upon a wayward 
child with whom argument is wasted. 

A few moments later a step was heard in the hall, 
and Bessie rose from the table, saying: 

“There’s Alfred.” 

Then Stephen heard her speaking to the new- 
comer as together they ascended the stairs. 

“ Good! ” said Aunt Lorinda. “ Now, dear little 
Alfred can have his boots taken off, and be dressed 
for dinner.” 

“ Is Alfred a little boy? ” Steve inquired. 

“ Yes, and always will be; ” but Dr. Thorne gave 
her a warning look. “ No, that was partly in joke. 
Alfred is Captain Chauncey, Mrs. Chauncey’s hus- 
band.” 

“ Mrs. Chauncey ? ” 


122 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

** Yes, she just left. We call her Bessie.’* 

So Bessie was married! Steve shrunk beneath 
the blow. For a moment his appetite forsook him. 
But then, to lovers under twelve, such announce- 
ments are less destructive than at maturer periods. 
To be near her for the present, with liberty to adore, 
was sufficient to feed the fires of his unexacting 
love. Although the shock was cruel, he quickly 
recovered, and with no abatement of devotion. 

“Is Captain Chauncey a real soldier?” he 
inquired. 

“ Bless you, no ! ” exclaimed Aunt Lorinda. “ He 
gave that up when he was married, and became a 
professional husband. He superintends his wife. 
He’s a successful invalid now. You don’t know 
what it is to be that kind of an invalid ? ’* 

Steve shook his head. She screwed up her eyes 
and looked sharply at him from the corners. 

“ I should say that he had the same line of dis- 
eases that you have.” 

“ But I am never sick ! ” 

“ That’s his trouble, and it unfifs him for 
work.” 

Steve did not quite understand; but it mattered 
little, as Aunt Lorinda was conversing for her own 
delectation. Dr. Thorne threw a warning glance 
which she carefully avoided. 

123 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

“ Think how awful it is for an able-bodied man in 
the prime of life to realize that consumption, fits, 
fatigue, old age, or some other fatal disease may 
strike him at any moment! And yet he fights 
bravely on. He is a fisherman. He has been fishing 
this morning, — Sunday.” 

Does he go on the ocean? ” asked Steve. 

Oh, dear no I He is not that foolish sort of a 
fisherman. No wet feet and empty stomachs for 
him I He sits on the bank and bobs a line. But he 
never catches anything. That would be cruel, 
wouldn’t it? — and laborious.” 

‘‘ Be careful. Aunt Lorinda ; ” and Dr. Thorne 
turned the lady’s conversation into other fields. 

Although the finer shades of Aunt Lorinda’s con- 
tempt were lost upon Stephen, he guessed that she 
had a poor opinion of Bessie’s husband. It was 
some hours later that he first met this gentleman. 

Coming down to supper, he found Dr. Thorne, 
Aunt Lorinda, and Bessie beneath the vine-covered 
porch. Upon the seat beside Bessie, his legs crossed 
and his hands in his pockets, sat the successful 
invalid ; and Steve was pleased with his appearance. 
Captain Chauncey’s age was mysterious, but he gave 
the impression — as was his intent — of a man of 
thirty-five or forty. But Aunt Lorinda and Dr. 
Thorne knew him to be twenty-four years older than 
124 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 


his wife, and his wife was twenty-six. His youthful 
mustache, from which the few gray hairs had been 
carefully extracted, turned pleasantly upwards at the 
extremities. In his face were no lines of care. The 
nose, chin, and forehead made an excellent profile. 
His eyeglasses seemed of more importance than the 
eyes behind, which were neither large, small, light, 
dark, attractive, nor repellent. These glasses ne- 
cessitated a slight but perpetual elevation of the 
chin when regarding others. 

Upon closer acquaintance it was usually dis- 
covered that Captain Chauncey’s mouth was pecu- 
liar. The under lip projected slightly, with no 
curve beneath; that is, his profile from mouth to 
chin was a straight, uncompromising line. The 
mouth, as a whole, while suggesting certain uncom- 
fortable varieties of decision, was less disquieting 
in repose than when its owner smiled. For when 
Captain Chauncey smiled, and with enjoyment, it 
was either from triumph or from contempt. The 
mouth seemed to open at the corners on these occa- 
sions, yet with no display of hilarity. 

But he had a good figure, was always well 
dressed, and, when necessary, polite and even enter- 
taining. 

‘‘ Alfred, this is Mr. Stephen Wadsworth,’’ said 
Bessie. ‘‘ He has come to make us a visit.” 

125 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

With mock ceremoniousness Captain Chauncey 
shook his hand. 

I am delighted to meet you, Mr. Wadsworth. 
You are from New York, I believe? ’’ 

‘‘Yes, sir.’’ 

“ Are you a student of phrenology, Mr. Wads- 
worth ? ” 

“ No, sir.” 

“ That’s lucky, for if you were, the contour of 
your own skull might cause you some uneasiness.” 

“ Why, Alfred,” said Bessie, “ what do you 
mean? Stephen has quite a handsome head.” 

“ Yes, very likely,” replied Captain Chauncey, 
passing his hand over Stephen’s close-cropped hair, 
“ but it depends altogether on the point of view. 
Gladiatorially it is a perfect head. Phrenologically, 
a man with a head like that is either a thief or a 
murderer. Just run your eye over the portraits of 
distinguished criminals and you will find they are 
endowed with similar craniums.” 

He patted Stephen on the shoulder, as he said in 
what was intended for a playful manner, — 

“ You don’t mind my uttering these harmless 
prophecies, Stephen ? ” 

“ No, sir, I don’t mind.” 

Dr. Thorne, remembering his own narrow escape 
in the cemetery, looked sharply at the boy; but he 
126 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

saw that Captain Chauncey’s remarks were taken 
simply as a joke. 

“ You shouldn’t talk that way, even in fun,” said 
Bessie. 

‘‘ Well,” said her husband, sinking back into his 
former position, ‘‘ we will play it’s a joke.” 

The person whose good opinion was more prec- 
ious than all others upon earth was, of course, the 
woman he loved ; and when Stephen found her eyes 
fixed amiably upon him, he became indifferent to 
all extraneous comment. 

You must certainly take a thorough course in 
phrenology,” said Aunt Lorinda. ‘‘ Don’t neglect 
a faculty that enables you not only to decide offhand 
on the character of every one you meet, but to fore- 
tell their future. Experience is nothing to it.” 

Captain Chauncey ignored this remark. Five 
years ago, on his last visit to America, he had 
ventured, in the presence of others, a few sarcastic 
remarks with intent to ridicule Aunt Lorinda. At 
that period he knew her but slightly, and had hoped 
by one crushing, almost insulting speech, reflecting 
upon her age, her dependent position, and her want 
of tact, to silence her forever, at least as regarded 
himself. But Aunt Lorinda in her sweetest manner 
had retorted with a calmness and skill that had 
stretched her adversary upon the field of battle. In 
127 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

her response, courteously worded, she had informed 
him — and the others present — that a scheming, 
impecunious, middle-aged man, who married an 
inexperienced girl for her money and wrecked her 
happiness by his own brutality and selfishness, was 
not entitled to the respect of decent people. 

Never since that day had he crossed swords with 
Aunt Lorinda. And that interview had been, with 
him, a sufficient excuse for depriving Bessie of all 
intercourse with her family. He preferred Vienna 
to New York, and this present trip to Lynstock was 
the first time in five years that he had allowed his 
wife to revisit her home. Now, a man of leisure, 
having resigned from the army soon after his marri- 
age, he devoted his intellect and energy to the 
nursing of a perfect constitution. And for this 
career the earth could not have furnished a more 
useful consort than Bessie Thorne. Affectionate, 
self-sacrificing, and abnormally conscientious, she 
became a willing slave. Her sense of duty and 
allegiance to the man she had married prevented the 
admission, even to herself, that her idol was of the 
poorest clay, and that all dreams of happiness were 
forever gone. Her husband, not being a fool, was 
aware that Dr. Thorne despised him. Of Aunt 
Lorinda’s contempt there had never been conceal- 
ment. 


128 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

That his wife, who knew him best of all, could, 
with her lofty ideals, respect his character, was too 
incredible even for Captain Chauncey’s vanity; and 
this knowledge in itself was an irritation. Of this 
irritation, his wife, being ever present, was the most 
convenient victim. Although she made no con- 
fession of matrimonial sorrows, these two friends 
knew better than herself why she had grown ten 
years older in half that number of years, and why 
the gayety and love of fun which seemed a part of 
her nature had all departed. 


129 


VII 


A s the days went by, it was discovered with 
surprise and pain that certain traits of 
character possessed by the new arrival 
were at variance with the moral standard of the 
Thornes. Truth and Stephen, it appeared, took 
little pleasure in each other’s company. He looked 
down upon this clear-eyed goddess as a feeble 
substitute for intelligence. Of course there are 
times when Truth is harmless and the easiest thing, 
and at these times she and Stephen worked together ; 
but in matters of business her co-operation was 
unsought. 

And what brought despair to the members of 
this honest household was the freedom from shame 
with which Stephen, when detected in a lie, looked 
them pleasantly in the eyes, as if falsehood were the 
natural course ; he being convinced, all protestations 
to the contrary, that theirs would be a similar course 
under similar conditions. And a yet sadder blow 
for these upright people, whose strength and purity 
of character were models for all who knew them, 
130 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 


was the gradual realization that this member of their 
household held independent views upon the rights 
of ownership. In acquiring the property of others 
without their knowledge he displayed a facility 
and courage that both dazzled and appalled his 
friends. And this accomplishment, instead of in- 
juring his reputation with certain of his pals^ 
proved a source of popularity, as all bananas, dates, 
or other luxuries obtained from the store without 
the formality of payment he always shared freely 
with his comrades. If rebuked at home, it became 
obvious, from his amiable but shameless arguments,, 
that, although outwardly convinced, he recog- 
nized no sin in appropriating what others did not 
require. 

These propensities, rare in Lynstock, and prac- 
tically unknown beneath the roof-tree of the 
Thornes, created hostile comment in the village 
and embarrassment among his friends. But Dr. 
Thorne, when reformatory institutions were sug- 
gested by the neighbors, still clung to Stephen. He 
always insisted upon a further trial. In fact per- 
sonal friends of the offender, as a rule, were inclined 
to leniency. This was easily explained by the 
possession on Stephen’s part of certain qualities 
that even his victims could not help respecting. His 
fidelity to his friends, his manliness, his self-reliance^ 

131 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

and extraordinary courage; his cheerfulness, his 
love of fair play and unhesitating sacrifice of self 
when occasion required, had won him adherents 
who remained wilfully blind to his lack of truth 
and to his contempt for certain brands of honor. 
To honor of a special kind, however, he was al- 
ways true. If he gave his word when the breaking 
of it might compromise a friend, he invariably 
fulfilled his promise at whatever cost. 

Another characteristic that brought annoyance 
and mortification to the household, and especially 
to the peace-loving Bessie, was this boy’s pugnacity. 
Hardly a day went by, during the first fortnight of 
his visit, in which his face presented its normal 
coloring. Either an eye was blackened, a lip swollen, 
or there were other disfigurations. His knuckles, 
as a rule, were skinned.” For it appeared neces- 
sary, at least to Stephen, that decisions should be 
reached at once as to whether he could ‘‘ lick ” the 
other boys, or vice versa. This, to his shame be it 
recorded, was owing less to curiosity on his part 
than to a desire for displaying a certain physical 
superiority. And while this superiority led to 
needless encounters of his own seeking, it must also 
be recorded, to his credit, that he never shrunk from 
confronting other warriors of whatever size. These 
bigger pugilists, however, found little satisfaction in 
132 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

meeting an enemy who not only enjoyed the combat, 
but who slept upon the field of battle. Steve never 
acknowledged defeat. He was always ready to 
begin again. The result was that, after a few san- 
guinary encounters with the fighting boys of the 
village, he was awarded the championship for the 
sake of peace : and hostilities ended. 

While, achieving this glory, he proved a most dis- 
tressing element among the peaceable, order-loving 
Thornes. Almost everything he did was a surprise. 
Of this he had no suspicion, believing himself, 
without giving the matter any thought, to be the 
average boy. But to Bessie and Aunt Lorinda he 
was a revelation. That any single human being 
should comprise so many conflicting traits, so many 
that were alarming, — even criminal, — and yet dis- 
play upon occasion qualities that bordered on the 
heroic, was even more than a revelation. It was 
a shock. And it broadened their points of view 
with a suddenness that destroyed their faith in all 
previous theories of human nature. 

One rainy afternoon during a children’s party at 
a neighbor’s house Aunt Lorinda discovered, in the 
ever surprising Stephen, a somewhat unexpected 
trait. One of the youthful guests, an awkward, 
plainly dressed girl, Hannah Snell by name, a victim 
of the ostracism that children — like their elders — 

133 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 


often inflict upon the undeserving, was ostenta- 
tiously ignored. Aunt Lorinda saw Stephen ap- 
proach this isolated being, escort her into the game 
of which he was one of the leaders, and exert him- 
self in a boyish way to mitigate the curse. More- 
over, when that particular game was finished and the 
girl once more ignored, he again approached the 
derelict and sat beside her. And Aunt Lorinda was 
amused to see Stephen induce another boy — ^by what 
art or coercion she could only guess — also attach 
himself. 

Walking home together Aunt Lorinda asked 
Stephen how he enjoyed the party. 

‘‘ Oh, first rate ! But I don’t know as girls help 
much. I like boys better.” 

I was glad to see you so kind to Hannah Snell. 
She is a nice girl, isn’t she? ” 

‘‘ No.” 

Aunt Lorinda looked down in surprise. 

‘‘Why, I thought you seemed to like her. You 
were certainly very polite, and I was glad to see 
it.” 

“ Oh, I did that just for — just because the others 
didn’t treat her right. ’Twasn’t the square thing. 
It made me kind of mad and I said to myself, “ I’ll 
pretend she’s my best girl and I’ll lick every feller 
that lets her alone.” 


134 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

“ Oh, not that ! ” 

“ lYes, siree ! But I found I’d have to lick all the 
boys there and I couldn’t do that. That is, not all 
at once.” 

Aunt Lorinda smiled. Looking down upon the 
stalwart champion at her side she patted his 
shoulder. 

‘‘Well, Stephen, the motive was good; and very 
much to your credit.” 

An hour later, after narrating the incident to Dr. 
Thorne, she added, “ The only trouble with Stephen 
is that he doesn’t fit his epoch. As a medieval 
baron, a Viking, or an early conqueror he would 
have been a shining light and made a name in his- 
tory. And do you know, William — don’t whisper 
it outside — but I am afraid I prefer a bad boy like 
Stephen to some very superior men we know.” 

“ But, Aunt Lorinda, I don’t admit that Stephen 
is bad. He acts according to his conscience.” 

“ His conscience,” said Aunt Lorinda, “ is the 
conscience of a Corsair. Perhaps that is why other 
boys, in comparison, seem too tame and civilized.’^ 

The acceptance in their midst of such a dog as 
Cato proved the liberalizing tendencies of Stephen’s 
influence. Cato’s introduction took place one after- 
noon as Aunt Lorinda with Dr. Thorne and the 
bishop were strolling along the path through the 
135 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

old-fashioned garden, conversing with solemn faces 
upon a family matter. 

They all looked up as the little gate swung to, 
and saw Stephen, his face illumined with pride and 
joy, running toward them with an animal in tow. 
Halting before the trio, he exclaimed, — 

‘‘ Look at him ! He’s mine ! ” 

And he pointed triumphantly to the quadruped by 
his side. 

This creature was a bulldog, brindled, wide- 
chested, bow-legged, with a projecting jaw and 
visible teeth. In the absurdly short space between 
his nose and his dissipated, bloodshot eyes were 
cynical creases, as if a careless or a disappointed 
Creator had jammed his nose into his face. This 
nose and the stumps of his close-cut ears were an 
unpleasant pink. The same color obtained also 
about his eyes. He looked immoral, pugnacious, 
and tough. He seemed a dog who might prefer gin 
to water, and who might swear and chew tobacco; 
who if he smoked would hold the cigar in a corner 
of his mouth, and never remove it. His tongue 
hung out a little between his teeth, and when he 
fixed his eyes upon a person he gave the impression 
as if about to spring and fasten onto human flesh 
until Death, and Death alone, should part his jaws. 

Aunt Lorinda took a backward step, rather be- 
136 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 


hind the bishop; and the bishop, had not pride 
restrained him, would have placed himself in turn 
behind Aunt Lorinda. But he stood his ground, 
and encountered without flinching the upward gaze 
of the brindled brute, who looked him calmly and 
somewhat warningly in the eyes with an expression 
that made it clear indeed that he had no fear of 
bishops. 

‘‘ Take him away! Take him away I ’’ exclaimed 
Aunt I.orinda. ‘‘ Take that horrid thing out of this 
yard, Stephen, and never bring him here again ! ” 

The joy departed from Stephen’s face. In a tone 
of the keenest disappointment he exclaimed, — 

“ Why, he’s a splendid dog ! He can lick any- 
thing in town.” 

“Where did you get him, Stephen?” asked Dr. 
Thorne. 

“ From Barney Case.” 

“ Did you buy him ? ” 

“ No, sir ; he gave him to me.” 

“ That is unusual. Barney is not in the habit of 
giving away his dogs. Are you sure he gave him 
to you ? ” 

“ Yes, sir.” 

“ Then it will be no loss to you if you take him 
back.” 

A swift glance from Steve expressed more to 

T37 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

Dr. Thorne than to the others, and the boy lowered 
his eyes. 

‘‘ Heavens ! ’’ exclaimed Aunt Lorinda. Think 
of living with such a thing! Why, I should feel 
safer with a Bengal tiger.’^ 

He won’t bite,” said Steve. “ Look ! ” and 
stooping down he pried open the shapeless mouth 
and inserted a finger. During this performance the 
animal turned his large brown eyes in gentle inquiry 
to Stephen’s face. These eyes, upon a calmer ex- 
amination, seemed honest and even tender; out of 
harmony, in fact, with the reckless pugnacity of his 
general appearance. 

Dr. Thorne, better versed in dogs than his com- 
panions, turned to Aunt Lorinda and said, — 

** He probably is not so bad as he looks.” 

“ To be that bad,” said the bishop, would be 
impossible.” 

“ What is his name, Stephen ? ” 

“ Cato.” 

‘‘ Cato ? There seems a want of fitness.” Then, 
turning to the bishop with a serious face, he in- 
quired, — 

‘‘ John, do you remember Cato as that kind of 
man, — a bow-legged. Bowery tough, with a chip on 
his shoulder ? ” 

The bishop smiled. 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

No, I do not ; but there may be more fitness 
than we think. Those later Romans were a danger- 
ous lot.” 

However, it ended by Aunt Lorinda being per- 
suaded to give Cato a chance, and that chance was 
all he needed. Both she and Bessie, when once 
accustomed to his threatening appearance, found 
him not only safe, but faithful, affectionate, and 
long-suffering. They always maintained, however, 
that a dog of Cato’s aspect rendered outward 
respectability impossible. 

Strangers who see him at the door,” said Aunt 
Lorinda, will be sure there’s a bar-room in the 
house.” 

The following afternoon Dr. Thorne called Steve 
into the library. He told him, as the boy stood 
leaning agaijist his knee, a hand in one of his own, 
that he had learned from Barney Case that seven 
dollars had been received for Cato. 

Now, Steve, I want you to tell me, truthfully, 
where you got that money.” 

Steve hesitated. Then looking his questioner 
frankly in the face, his own eyes radiant with 
truth, — 

I found it.” 

“ Where did you find it? ” 

Again there was hesitation. 

139 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 


“ I forget.” 

Dr. Thorne with his other hand patted him gently 
on the shoulder. 

“No, no; be honest, Stephen. Where did you 
find it?’’ 

“ On the kitchen table.” 

“ And you knew it was Ellen’s money.” 

“ I didn’t know.” 

“ Yes, you knew, for you heard poor Ellen asking 
about it.” 

Steve twisted the little gold ring upon his finger, 
but answered nothing. 

“ I thought you and Ellen were the best of 
friends.” 

“We be — we 

“ She has been very kind to you, hasn’t she ? She 
has cooked things especially for you; and she tied 
up your thumb that day you cut it.” 

“ Yes.” 

“ And now,” continued the doctor, always gently, 
you repay her by robbing her of her wages.” 

Steve lowered his eyes. 

“ You rob her, your own friend, to whom you 
ought to be grateful, by depriving her of the benefits 
of her labor.” 

This was putting it in a new light. A little color 
crept over Stephen’s face, and he looked away, 

140 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 


Pretty small business, isn’t it, for a manly boy 
with any sense of honor? And it is disappointing* " 
for me to find you are too weak to resist temptation, 
and ready to turn at any moment and betray those 
who trust you, who helped you when in trouble. 
Ingratitude is bad enough; but to be a thieving 
traitor who — ” 

No, no ! ” exclaimed Steve, facing about with 
quivering lips, ‘‘ I ain’t that ! I ain’t ! I didn’t think 
all that. Really, I didn’t ! ” and, extending his arm, 
he pressed his hand against the doctor’s chest. 

‘‘Well, I believe you, Stephen; that you didn’t 
realize what a mean business you were undertaking. 
But I want you to make me a promise, — a solemn 
promise that you will stick to through thick and 
thin, all your life. That is, that you will never steal 
again; never, under any circumstances. Can you 
make such a promise and keep it ? ” 

“Yes, sir! Yes, sir!” 

“ But I do not wish you to make the promise 
unless you are sure you can keep it.” 

“ I am sure I can. I will” 

“ Very well. Then lay your hand in mine, so. 
Now say, ‘ Dr. Thorne, I give you my word of 
honor that I will never steal again.’ ” 

Steve repeated the words with an emphasis and 
decision that gave encouragement to the listener. 

,141 


Dr Thorne's Idea 

The interview had been short; but the counsellor 
and friend, considering the offender’s character, 
believed the lesson might be v^eakened by a moral 
lecture. 

Ellen was reimbursed, and Stephen made to feel 
vhat he was freely forgiven and fully trusted. 

A day or two later, quite early in the morning, 
as Steve was lounging about the porch in company 
whh Cato, his rapturous admirer. Captain Chauncey 
came down the stairs and halted in the doorway, rod 
in hand, all dressed and equipped for fishing. His 
face seemed harder than usual, and yet about his 
mouth were indications of a smile. This smile, 
had it developed, would have been sardonic and 
exultant. 

‘‘Are you going fishing?” asked Stephen. 

Captain Chauncey regarded the boy a moment, 
and appeared to be getting his mouth into just the 
right position for the kind of answer he proposed to 
give. This resulted in a curling of the upper lip, a 
slight opening of the mouth, and a further pro- 
jection of the under jaw. 

“ No, I am going first to a funeral and then to 
church. I should think you might have guessed it 
from my basket, rod, and bait box.” 

Stephen, too simple and direct himself to fully 
grasp the sarcasm, smiled pleasantly in return. 

142 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

Captain Chauncey gave no responding smile, but 
asked a question, — 

“ Would the murderer like to go too?” 

‘‘Yes!” and Steve, with enthusiasm, jumped 
quickly from his seat. “ I’ll get my line in a 
second ! ” 

“ Hold on ! Don’t be in a hurry. To-day I prefer 
to be alone. The invitation is for some other 
day.” 

Then, as the face before him changed from happy 
expectancy to the keenest sorrow, and then to em- 
barrassment, the captain really smiled, — his usual 
smile, however, of victory, not of mirth : his mouth 
opening wider at the corners than in the centre. He 
also raised his chin, and regarded Stephen with eyes 
that gave no suggestion of a smile. Then he turned 
and walked away. 

Stephen’s adoration of Mrs. Chauncey implied no 
hostility toward the existing husband. On the con- 
trary, he tried to like him. Future complications 
resulting from a second spouse caused him no 
anxiety. 

Whether Captain Chauncey would relinquish 
his wife upon the appearance of another suitor, or 
whether God in His mercy would remove the captain 
at the proper time, as He habitually removed the 
shades of night at sunrise, were unimportant details 

143 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

to be adjusted in the happy future. Steve only 
knew with certainty that ten years hence, when he 
was twenty-one, — Bessie of course remaining her 
present age, — they were to be married ; he, Stephen, 
in the intervening years having covered himself 
with blood and glory. At present he was forced to 
content himself with watching her, with listening 
to her voice, and dreaming dreams of heroic deeds 
and complete possession. 

It was with deep although silent grief that he 
learned the lady of his choice was merely visiting 
at Lynstock; and he partook sincerely in the family 
sorrow when Bessie informed them, one morning 
at breakfast, that their visit was to be shortened by 
a month. Captain Chauncey having decided to 
return to Vienna within a week. There were traces 
of weeping in her face when she came to the table, 
and this information was given with quivering lips 
and in a breaking voice. 

Aunt Lorinda laid down her knife and fork, 
leaned back in her chair, and refrained from speech. 
She knew that if she spoke her expressions would 
shock her nephew. Had the captain himself been 
present, the temptation might have proved too 
strong. Dr. Thorne arose from the table and 
walked into his study, bearing the outward traces of 
a righteous indignation; for he knew as well as 
144 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

Aunt Lorinda that Captain Chauncey made no pre- 
tence of respect for Bessie's wishes or for those of 
her family. This visit to her home, the first in five 
years, was not likely to be repeated, as the captain 
was bored at Lynstock, and he was not a victim to 
the habit of self-sacrifice. To be sure, he had prom- 
ised, and it was distinctly understood, that they were 
to remain until the middle of September; and he 
knew that for this violation of his word there would 
be an augmentation of contempt on the part of 
Aunt Lorinda and of Dr. Thorne. That troubled 
him little, however, as once out of Lynstock neither 
he nor Bessie should ever enter it again. 

As for Stephen, he looked forward to a sunless 
life after the departure of the woman he loved. 

The knowledge of this approaching separation 
caused father and daughter to be more frequently 
together during the remaining days. And one 
afternoon that very week, while Dr. Thorne was 
writing at his study-table, Bessie sat near the open 
window, her work in her lap, gazing sadly over the 
flowers to the distant hills. A summer breeze, 
bearing perfumes from the old-fashioned garden, — 
the garden of her happy youth, — ^blew gently against 
her face, and sharpened the sorrow of approaching 
separation. 

Around this library — a long low room, with win- 
145 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

dows on opposite sides — ran an old-fashioned 
wainscoting reaching half-way to the ceiling. The 
paper was a faded green, dotted with enormous 
roses, once crimson, but which during seventy years 
had faded to the palest pink. There were cases 
filled with books, and above them hung family 
portraits and some quaint old prints. An enormous 
chimney, with panels to the ceiling and cupboards 
at the sides, filled one end of the apartment. 

Stephen, in a further corner, was adorning the 
surface of a kite. This kite, a pretentious structure, 
was the result of long hours of labor. The only 
sounds in the room came from the squeaking goose- 
quill moving swiftly across the paper, with 
occasional movements from Stephen as he applied 
the colors to the “ Daisy Flyer.” Steve was no 
artist, and once, when the writer turned to see how 
the work progressed, he smiled at the gaudy masses 
that represented, in the painter’s mind, a lady with 
golden wings. One indigo eye, from the excess of 
color, had traversed cheek and neck. The space 
for the mouth had been forgotten, and the yellow 
wings were fluttering in unwished-for places. Cato, 
slumbrous and with blinking eyes, sat close by his 
master’s feet. Occasionally he moved an admiring 
glance from the kite to Stephen’s face. 

This peaceful silence, whose only interruption 
146 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

within half an hour had been the temporary visit 
of a humming-bird, at last was harshly broken. In 
the vicinity of the kite there was a rapid movement, 
with a peculiar sound from Cato as if he had re- 
ceived a kick; a snapping of wood, a rending of 
paper, all followed by a flow of language that 
brought the writer to his feet with an exclamation 
of disgust. 

This flow of language consisted almost exclu- 
sively of curses. The kite with the lady on its sur- 
face was denounced in reckless terms. The Al- 
mighty and our Saviour were blasphemously in- 
sulted, these holy names, in the lavish and uncon- 
sidered invective, becoming themselves the objects 
of their own anathema. And from the startling 
frequency of the word damn and from its super- 
fluous repetition, it was obvious that the speaker 
employed it not only for the meaning conveyed, 
but because of its welcome sound. The malodor- 
ousness of the most sacred characters of Chris- 
tianity was repeatedly alluded to, and with no at- 
tempt at refinement. 

With the first sentence of this triumph of blas- 
phemy Bessie started to her feet, horror-stricken and 
doubting her own senses. The revolting language, 
all swiftly uttered in a reckless fury, had for its 
accompaniment a whirlwind of paper, sticks, and 

147 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 


kite tail, Stephen dancing in the centre with re- 
volving arms, beside himself with passion. 

Cato, from beneath a distant table, looked on in 
pained astonishment, and fixed inquiring eyes upon 
Dr. Thorne. 

The commotion ended as suddenly as it began. 
Stephen staggered from the wreck, drawing the 
back of his hand across his forehead. His face was 
very white. Defiantly and with sullen rage his 
eyes for an instant met the gaze of Dr. Thorne; 
then he lowered his face as if in shame. 

“ Are you mad ? ’’ 

There was no answer. 

“ Are you mad ? Do you suppose such language 
is permitted in this house? Or in any other? ” 

Stephen looked up. His lips, now dry and color- 
less, made the motions of replying, but no sound 
came forth. 

“You understand?’’ said Dr. Thorne, with a 
severity in terrifying contrast to his usual gentle- 
ness. “ Even to have such thoughts is disgraceful. 
To utter them an unpardonable offence — not only 
against religion but against decency and against 
your friends.” 

Stephen tried to speak, and had to moisten his 
lips. His voice was hoarse, and came with diffi- 
culty. 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

What did I say ? ” 

“ What did you say 1 Do you suppose any self- 
respecting person is going to repeat it ? ’’ 

In a firmer voice, unmistakably sincere, and with 
a troubled expression, he said : ‘‘ Really, sir ; really 
I don’t know what I said.” 

‘‘ Then are you crazy ? Are you a blasphemer so 
callous and irresponsible that you have already for- 
gotten ? ” 

The blasphemer closed his eyes, and again drew 
the back of a hand across his forehead. 

“I guess I’m crazy, like ma.” 

“ Better if you were crazy than do it knowingly.” 

Steve made no defence. 

“ What’s that about your mother? You say crazy 
like her? ” 

Yes, sir.” 

“Was she — had she such fits of temper?” 

“ Oh, yes, sir ! And she was crazy mad when she 
had ’em.” Then, with a mournful glance toward the 
remnants of the kite, — the kite upon which he and 
Billy Brewster had spent several afternoons of en- 
thusiastic labor, “ She used to smash things too. 
She came near killin’ dad, an’ more’n once.” 

In a gentler voice, reflectively, as if communing 
with himself. Dr. Thorne inquired, “ So your mother 
had similar attacks ? ” 


149 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 


“ Yes, sir.’’ 

Dr. Thorne returned to his chair, and for a 
moment sat in silence. Then he called Stephen to his 
side, and as he listened to certain anecdotes of Mrs. 
Wadsworth, of her murderous fury, and of how 
father and son, habitually and by a previous under- 
standing, seized and held her for common safety 
until reason returned, his anger gave place to pity. 
And Steve, thoroughly ashamed of his * behavior, 
received words of consolation and advice. Then, 
collecting the scattered fragments of the kite, he 
left the library, the forgiving Cato at his heels. 

Dr. Thorne went over to the window, and 
standing by his daughter, they discussed this matter, 
deciding to aid their guest by gentle means toward 
a mastery of himself. 

‘‘ Such a temper,” said the father, “ is an awful 
heritage, too heavy for human resistance. Poor 
Steve! I sometimes think him specially ordained, 
by inheritance and training, for a life of crime. His 
very virtues are against him. Courage, self-reliance, 
and a love of freedom and adventure make a dan- 
gerous balance-wheel to a perverted conscience. 
And with his health and strength it is all the harder 
to be good.” 

As he stood by her chair, both looking out into 
the garden, they went on to other subjects, each 
150 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

avoiding the one that lay heaviest in their hearts, 
the parting, perhaps forever, that was soon to 
come. 

Long after he had returned to his work, Bessie's 
hands lay idle in her lap, her eyes moving sadly 
from the old garden to the little cemetery on the hill, 
then to her parent at the table, whose life, as she 
now reviewed it, seemed one unvarying record of 
kindly deeds, of unresting charity and of self-for- 
getfulness. 

The sun, now sinking in the west, was creeping 
slowly across the carpet, when a door from the hall 
opened very slowly — and very little. Dr. Thorne, 
who chanced in a reflective moment to be looking in 
that direction, saw the maid, with a warning glance 
toward Bessie, anxiously beckon him to come out. 
He obeyed. 

On the porch stood a group of men. At the end 
of the path, outside the gate, were other people, 
men, women, and children, all silent and with 
solemn faces, looking earnestly toward the house. 
The spokesman, as Dr. Thorne approached, removed 
his hat and stood aside. Upon a rudely constructed 
litter lay a human form, the face reverently hidden 
by a cloth. 

He was found in the woods about an hour ago 
at the foot of Beeman’s Ledge, by a couple o’ boys. 

151 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 


He probably slipped from the rocks, and must ’a’ 
fell nigh onto a hundred feet/' 

As he spoke, the cloth was removed, and Dr. 
Thorne looked down upon the cold, white face of 
Captain Chauncey. 


152 


VIII 


R elating to this death were circum- 
stances which invited explanation. 

The narrowest part of the ledge — the 
point where Captain Chauncey’s hat was found 
and at whose base lay the body — was fully two 
yards wide, and although a hundred feet from 
the rocks beneath was never regarded as a hazard- 
ous path. By the inhabitants of Upper Lynstock 
it was frequently travelled as a shorter cut to the 
larger village. Captain Chauncey himself had trod- 
den it twenty times at least this very summer in 
going to Willow Pond, and on this particular day 
there appeared no signs of unusual peril. It was 
not slippery, and no portion of the shelf had given 
way. 

His felt hat, a light pearl-gray in color, was lying 
a yard or more from the edge of the precipice, and 
bore unmistakable marks of having been ground into 
the earth by a heel with iron nails. This suggested 
violence, as he could hardly have done it himself in 
an accidental fall. Nothing else was found upon the 

153 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

ledge. His fishing-rod with nickel-plated joints, 
which he carried when he left the house, had disap- 
peared. The most thorough search in the neighbor- 
hood of his body and also about the ledge developed 
no trace of it. 

The body lay directly beneath the ledge. The 
back of the skull was broken in, presumably by the 
fall, as no signs of blood were visible either upon his 
hat or anywhere in its vicinity. His cravat, the 
clothing about his chest, and one sleeve were be- 
grimed and scraped with dirt, the rest of his apparel 
being hardly soiled. The finger-nails of both hands, 
being broken and filled with dirt, gave evidence of 
desperate clutchings at earth and rocks and bushes. 

These facts excited comment, and comment led 
swiftly to suspicion, — first of suicide, then of foul 
play. The evidence, however, while seemingly 
sufficient for either theory, contradicted both. 

No theory of suicide was accepted by those who 
knew him. He was fond of life, and his fear of 
death was more than wholesome. The idea of mur- 
der appeared equally unreasonable, as he had no ene- 
mies in the village, and his pockets were undisturbed. 
His watch and a few dollars still remained upon his 
person. Nobody in Lynstock seemed likely to com- 
mit a murder for a fishing-rod, especially as its dis- 
covery might send the possessor to the gallows. 

154 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

Taken altogether, it was a death that formed a 
thrilling mystery. 

On the day of the funeral, from early morning 
until late at night, a heavy rain, varying only in its 
degrees of copiousness, saturated the village and 
formed generous puddles along its streets and side- 
walks. . 

The services were at the house. Dr. Thorne offici- 
ating. 

A prayer was offered by the bishop. This prayer, 
considering the bishop’s low esteem for the spirit 
previously animating the remains before him, was a 
non-committal triumph. While cautious, it appeared 
benignly comprehensive. In so far as it concerned 
the deceased, this prayer could have been offered 
with equal fitness at the funeral of Florence Night- 
ingale or of Captain Kidd. 

The task of Dr. Thorne was far less simple. A 
more specific application is expected in a eulogy, and 
Captain Chauncey had earned his sincere contempt, 
a contempt that was hearty and without reservation. 
Moreover the death which it was now his office to 
publicly regret, could not fail to prove a blessing to 
his daughter and an unspeakable relief to all who 
loved her. But the speaker was no novice. With 
skilful emphasis he touched upon those faults of 
which the deceased was guiltless, dwelling kindly 

155 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 


Upon the fact that in this sudden death they had lost 
a refined, intelligent companion, a seeker after 
knowledge, a temperate, dignified, law-abiding citi- 
zen. And this he could do with truth, wishing his 
hearers to forget, at least for the time, that this same 
son-in-law had been ungrateful, mean, and cruel; 
that he was a domestic bully, useless, offensively 
selfish, and impossible to live with. In these re- 
marks he thought principally of his mourning daugh- 
ter. This daughter, whose sensitive conscience up- 
braided her for having withheld that perfect love 
and confidence which the ideal wife should lavish 
upon a husband, was crushed with grief; and this 
grief was now more torturing than if her husband 
had been a better man. 

Aunt Lorinda, her face invisible behind a veil, 
seemed a model of self-control; while Steve, in his 
Sunday suit of black with a broad white collar, sat 
demurely near the foot of the coffin and comported 
himself with becoming solemnity. Once, however, 
as Dr. Thorne, during a pause in his remarks, hap- 
pened to look down into his face, he was greeted by 
an intent, somewhat puzzled expression, quickly fol- 
lowed by a half-suppressed smile, which at the 
moment he regarded merely as a boyish recognition. 

On returning from the cemetery the disconsolate 
Bessie sought seclusion in her chamber. Aunt 

156 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 


Lorinda, with Dr. Thorne and the Bishop, passing 
on into the library. 

As they entered this room, where the melancholy 
silence of a recent death still held possession, the ir- 
repressible aunt was the first to speak. 

“ Death is an awful thing, although this be- 
reavement does strengthen my faith in the watch- 
fulness of Providence.’* 

“ Aunt Lorinda ! ” exclaimed Dr. Thorne. “ Re- 
spect the dead ! ” 

“ Oh, come now, William,” she retorted, turning 
about and confronting her two distinguished neph- 
ews, you are much too good ! You know as well 
as anybody that he was the curse of Bessie’s life. 
And of yours too! Any show of grief from those 
who care for that girl is a transparent sham. 
We’ve put on black and seen him properly buried, 
— all with solemn faces and a decent show of grief, 
— which is more than he would have done for us. 
And now, I say, all who have any regard for our 
Bessie are inwardly rejoicing.” 

Turning suddenly to the bishop, she demanded, — 

“Am I right, John, or not?” 

The bishop raised his eyebrows and stroked his 
handsome chin. ^ 

“ Well,” he answered reflectively. “ Possibly,—* 
in a sense. But there is a solemnity in death — ” 

157 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 


“Solemnity in rubbish! You parsons are more 
timid than mice. Forget that you are a bishop and 
for once in your life give an honest opinion ! ” 

Dr. Thorne could not repress a smile. 

‘‘ That’s into you, John.” 

‘‘ You both know,” continued Aunt Lorinda, un- 
tying the strings of her bonnet with decisive fin- 
gers, that this sudden taking off was no accident. 
It was the punishment of God ! ” 

A movement in a farther corner of the room 
caused all to look in that direction. From a spa- 
cious chair whose back was toward them, Stephen 
emerged and came slowly toward the group. In 
his hand was a book, and at his heels walked Cato. 
He had never appeared so intensely respectable — 
so genteel and outwardly moral — as now. In his 
Sunday suit of black, which he had donned for the 
funeral, with its knee-breeches, long stockings, and 
expansive linen collar, he suggested a Van Dyck 
portrait as he stood, book in hand, against the gloom 
behind, the side-light from the windows leaving half 
his face in shadow. 

With a nod of approval he smiled upon Aunt 
Lorinda. ‘‘ It wasn’t any accident, ’cause I did it.” 

Dr. Thorne frowned. 

‘‘Did what?” 

“ Pushed Captain Chauncey off the ledge.” 

158 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

Aunt Lorinda took a backward step and sank 
into the nearest chair. Her parted lips lost what 
little color they possessed. 

You pushed him off ! she exclaimed, in a voice 
hardly above a whisper. 

Steve nodded, — a boastful, swaggering nod; and 
he smiled as if enjoying her surprise. 

Although she knew the boy to be a liar, there 
was something in his face and manner at the pres- 
ent moment that deprived her of the power of 
speech. Dr. Thorne with contracted brows regarded 
him intently, as if refusing to believe. He also 
knew him to be a liar, but he had learned to recog- 
nize those occasions when Truth and Stephen were 
together, and this was one of them. 

‘‘ What do you mean, Stephen ? he asked in a 
constrained voice, in a tone more anxious than 
severe. “ You do not mean to say that you — 
killed Captain Chauncey ? '' 

‘‘ Yes, sir.” 

There was less boastfulness in this answer. 

The three pairs of eyes, all fixed intently upon his 
own in a sudden horror, had produced a sobering 
effect. 

The black bonnet slipped from Aunt Lorinda’s 
fingers to the floor. She clutched the arms of her 
chair, but said nothing. As for the bishop, he stood 

159 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 


Staring at the boy, unable to reconcile this confes- 
sion of a monstrous crime with a pair of eyes so 
overladen with purity and honor. Even Dr. Thorne, 
more familiar with Stephen’s moral machinery, was 
still unable to believe. 

“ It was, of course, an accident,” he said. 

Steve shook his head slowly, but with a sidelong 
movement to add emphasis to the negative. 

“ You lost your temper, and became irrespon- 
sible?” 

“ No, sir. I did it on purpose. I did it for Mrs. 
Chauncey.” 

‘‘ What do you mean by that ? ” 

“ I mean because Mrs. Chauncey would never be 
happy again until he was dead.” Turning to Aunt 
Lorinda, he added, That very morning you said, 
‘ There’ll be no happiness for Bessie while that man 
lives.’ ” 

Aunt Lorinda straightened up as if to speak, but 
sank back into her chair, and bowed her head. 
Steve saw the movement. 

“ ’Twa’n’t that alone,” he added hastily, to re- 
lieve her from all responsibility. ‘‘ I wasn’t tryin’ 
to lay it off onto you. I knew it anyway, from 
lots of things.” 

For this the lady gave acknowledgment by a 
motion of the head. 

i6o 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

** Was that your only motive ? asked Dr. Thorne. 

“ Yes, sir, it was.” 

Dr. Thorne drew a long breath and closed his 
eyes. In the pause that followed, Stephen leaned 
back against the table, studying the cover of his 
book, “ The Last of the Mohicans.” Cato came a 
little nearer, looking up into his face inquiringly, 
as one who began to be bored. 

“ Then,” said Dr. Thorne, still hoping for the 
best, “ you can tell us what became of his fishing- 
rod.” 

‘‘ Yes, sir. It’s up in the attic.” 

“ Did you bring it home yourself? ” 

‘‘ Yes, sir.” 

“ Run up and fetch it.” 

As Steve left the room with Cato at his heels, 
two questioning faces turned anxiously to Dr. 
Thorne. 

‘‘ Can it be ? ” whispered Aunt Lorinda. 

A shake of the head, as if in doubt, was the only 
answer. 

“ Impossible ! ” exclaimed the bishop. 

Stephen’s feet, clearing two steps at a jump as 
he ascended the stairs, were all that broke the 
silence. 

‘‘ It is certainly hard to accept,” said Dr. Thorne, 
at last, “ yet I fear he is telling the truth.” Then 
i6i 


L>i i home’s Idea 


with the deepest feeling he added, ‘‘ Poor child ! 
I would give much to prove that he was not ! ” 

Steve, in the mean time, descended from the 
attic, the missing fishing-rod in his hand. As he 
passed the open door of Bessie’s chamber, she recog- 
nized the familiar article and started to her feet. 
But the bearer in another instant was out of hear- 
ing, and scampering down the stairs. 

When this bit of evidence was placed in Dr. 
Thorne’s unwilling hands, his face grew sadder and 
he regarded it with a melancholy frown. He told 
Steve to lay it on the table. Steve obeyed, remain- 
ing in his old position, the three sable figures in a 
line before him. 

The bishop, erect and impassive, one hand upon 
the back of Aunt Lorinda’s chair, unable to believe 
yet knowing he heard the truth, was the next to 
speak. 

‘‘ Had you already decided upon this deed, and 
were only waiting an opportunity to accomplish 
it?” 

Oh, noj” Steve answered quickly. ‘‘I never 
thought of it till just that minute. We were walk- 
ing along, and just before we got to that narrow 
place, where it’s so awful high and makes you dizzy 
to look over, I thought what an awful thing it would 
be for either of us to slip off; and then, right at 
162 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

the same time, I remembered that if he should slip 
off it would be a mighty good thing for Mrs. Chaun- 
cey. But I hadn’t any idea of taking such a mean 
advantage of him.” 

“ Go on. Tell us just how it happened.” 

‘‘ When we got to the narrowest part he stopped 
and said, ‘ Steve, I’ll give you a dollar to jump off.’ 
And he laid his hand on my shoulder as if to make 
me do it. Then he sort of pushed me towards the 
edge. He may have been jokin’, but it was mighty 
dangerous. And ’twas mighty one-sided, for I was 
the little feller. It made me mad. And he was al- 
ways trying to do that.” 

“ Trying to do what? ” 

“ Trying to make me mad. And sometimes you 
couldn’t tell what his game was.” 

The truth of this was acknowledged by affirma- 
tive nods of Aunt Lorinda’s head. 

'' But he tackled the wrong feller that time. 
When he pushed me I pushed him/* 

As the narrator appeared to expect some recogni- 
tion of the risks he undertook, the funereal aud- 
itors before him all acknowledged by look or gesture 
their appreciation of the hazard. And this acknowl- 
edgment was sincere. Whatever their opinions as 
to the righteousness of the deed, no doubt could 
exist regarding the ability of its execution. Mis- 
163 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

taking their close attention for approval, he laid his 
book upon the table, that his hands might be free, 
and illustrated by occasional attitudes and gestures 
the position of the ledge and of Captain Chauncey, 
and how the victory was achieved. 

‘‘ So I give — I gave him an awful push, just my 
whole weight — and I ducked. ’Twas lucky I did, 
for he clutched at my head and pulled my hat off. 
I couldn’t see him when I ducked, but he must have 
kinder turned around — try in’ to recover himself, I 
guess — and he fell just on the edge, facing in, my 
way. He slid over and held on by his hands and 
one elbow. He was awful white, — scared lookin’. 
His chin was on the edge and helped hold him up. 
He thought it was accident, I guess, for he said, 
‘ Quick, Steve, put your sleeve in my teeth and 
pull ! ’ But of course I didn’t. He would have 
pulled me over. His fingers quivered and slipped, 
and I saw he could hardly hold on, so I shook my 
head — like that — to say I wouldn’t.” 

He paused as if the tale were ended, studying the 
knuckles of his left hand, — an action which Dr. 
Thorne had learned to recognize as an indication 
of embarrassment. 

‘‘ Go on,” he said gently. “ Tell us everything, 
Stephen.” 

Looking down, then up, and rubbing the back of 
164 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

his hand across his forehead, the narrator showed 
signs of agitation, the first during the interview. 

His face was awful white, and he looked at me 
hard — scared and mad both — and kind of whis- 
pered, for his voice wouldn’t come.” 

** What did he say ? ” 

Stephen hesitated. 

“What did he say? You might as well tell us 
all.” 

There was a pause, but when the answer came it 
bore an ominous significance to those familiar with 
Captain Chauncey’s prediction. 

“ He said, ‘ So you are a murderer ! ’ ” 

This swift fulfilment of a heartless prophecy 
brought a chill of awe to Aunt Lorinda. With a 
new terror she regarded Stephen, who turned partly 
away and looked through a distant window, out into 
the rain beyond. 

“ And that was a lie,” said Stephen, “ because I 
am not a murderer. It all happened in a second. 
There was no good in my going over, too.” 

Cato, divining perhaps the necessity of encour- 
agement, licked the hand that was nearest, thus 
notifying his comrade that one friend remained 
whose sentiments were unaltered. 

“ And then did he let go and — disappear ? ” asked 
Aunt Lorinda, in a low voice. 

165 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

“Yes, ma’am. The whole business was only a 
minute. You see there wa’n’t any place underneath 
for his feet, and his elbow kept slippin’ off, so he — 
just had to go.” 

There was a silence; then the bishop took a for- 
ward step, folded his hands behind him, and in a 
manner not unkind yet suitably terrifying thus ad- 
dressed the malefactor, — 

“ The enormity of this deed is evidently beyond 
your present comprehension. You fail to realize 
what you have done. If you did, you would be flee- 
ing from the haunts of men with the shadow of 
the gallows across your path. Do you know the 
punishment for the crime of murder?” 

Steve, deeply impressed either by the words or 
by the sonorousness of their delivery, had grown 
uneasy, and now looked up with a hostile frown. 
But he did not answer. 

“For a man,” continued the bishop, “the pun- 
ishment is death ; for you, the penitentiary.” 

Now, this boy had heard of penitentiaries, from 
another boy, who had been there, and he made a 
swift resolve never to enter one alive. As for Dr. 
Thorne, he regretted the bishop’s speech, having in 
mind quite a different plan for bringing the sinner 
to a realization of his offence. 

But the speaker continued, — 

1 66 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

“ Suppose the rest of us should take it upon our- 
selves to rid the world of those against whom we 
had the slightest grievance. Suppose — 

‘‘ But there wasn’t any grievance ! ” interrupted 
Steve. “ I didn’t mean to do it ! I didn’t do it for 
myself; I did it — ” He stopped, his glance moving 
suddenly to the door behind the bishop. The others 
looked about, and from Aunt Lorinda came an ex- 
clamation, — 

Bessie ! You here ! ” 

Standing in the doorway, pale, one hand against 
her cheek, Bessie’s eyes wandered excitedly from 
Stephen’s face to those about her. Taking a step 
toward her father, she exclaimed, in a voice scarcely 
louder than a whisper, — 

‘‘ Can it be ! Can it be ! ” 

Dr. Thorne took one of her hands in his. ‘‘ Why, 
darling, your fingers are like ice ! Go back to your 
room for a time. Steve was only telling us — how 
it happened.” 

No ! I heard. It’s awful, awful ! ” 

She sank into a chair, her eyes, red from weeping, 
fixed in terror upon the face of her youthful adorer. 
Dr. Thorne observed it. Turning to the boy, he 
said in a gentler tone, — 

“ Go to your chamber, Steve, and remain until I 
send for you.” 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

Stephen, in passing near her as he left the room, 
stopped, looked somewhat timidly into her face, and 
was about to speak, when she shrank backward, 
overturning the chair as she rose to her feet. Im so 
doing she breathed a word, inaudibly, and perhaps 
unconsciously, a word that Steve could only guess 
at. From the movement of her lips and what little 
he could hear, he guessed it to be murderer.” 

Into his own face it brought an expression which 
rarely came there, an expression of dismay and of 
fading courage. He lowered his eyes ; then, with a 
slight movement of the lips, he left the room. 

There were callers that evening, relatives and 
friends, and the hour was late when Dr. Thorne 
retired, having had no time for talking with the 
evil-doer. 

The next morning, as he dressed, he went over in 
his mind the most effective arguments for this mis- 
guided boy. He fully realized the necessity of 
gentleness and diplomacy. 

Knowing this to be a crisis in his guest’s career, 
he regretted the bishop’s mistaken effort at intimi- 
dation; and this regret became a sudden appre- 
hension as he espied a note beneath his chamber 
door. Who but Steve would place it there? 

He picked it up and adjusted his glasses, 

1 68 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

Dr. Thorne, — Good by. I will not go to a pentenshary 
which is the same as prison. I am much obliged to you for my 
nice visit. All your goodness to me I sbaftt shall never forget. 

Affectionately yours, 

Stephen Wadsworth. 

The front door was found unlocked. He had de- 
parted either late at night or very early in the 
morning, as no one in the town had seen him pass. 

The only positive information was given that 
evening by the village doctor. Four miles from 
Lynstock, in the uncertain light of early dawn, he 
had met a mud-stained boy with a dog following 
closely at his heels. Both marched with drooping 
heads and through a soaking rain. 


169 


IX 


O F the fugitives no trace was found ; no clue 
whatever save the misty apparition re- 
ported by the village doctor. Although 
the expressman of a neighboring village had no- 
ticed a vicious-looking dog as he hovered about a 
freight-train, his description of the boy who ac- 
companied him was too indefinite to be of value; 
and his observations of the dog were only from a 
distance, as he took especial care to avoid a close 
acquaintance. 

To Dr. Thorne this disappearance was a serious 
blow. He felt the gravest anxiety in regard to 
Stephen’s future, knowing well the influence of as- 
sociates for good and for evil in the development of 
such a character. But all efforts to find him were 
in vain. Days, weeks, and months went by, and 
brought no news ; yet the faithful friend never quite 
gave up the search. While still remembering and 
always on the watch for the name or face of Stephen 
Wadsworth, his hope grew fainter as the years 
went by. 


170 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

Whatever the effects upon Steve himself of his 
unpardonable crime, its results, as felt by others, 
were far from melancholy. In the home at Lyn- 
stock there came a permanent peace; a renewal of 
the old relations, affectionate and without restraint, 
that in time brought the color to Bessie’s cheeks. 
And the old-time laughter again was heard. Aunt 
Lorinda, when alone with her nephew, had more 
than once declared that Stephen was a messenger 
from Heaven, and that she often mentioned him in 
her prayers. It gave her pleasure to repeat a fa- 
mous line which Dr. Thorne had often quoted, — 

“ Whatever is, is right.” 

On one occasion, as they were walking home to- 
gether beneath the elms of Lynstock, she thus ex- 
pressed herself, — 

“ If I were a youthful beauty and Alfred Chaun- 
cey and Stephen Wadsworth should present them- 
selves as suitors, do you suppose that I would hesi- 
tate between them ? ’’ 

“ Well, T don’t know. Aunt Lorinda. But I do 
know one thing; and that is that the one you didn’t 
like would not be long in doubt.” 

Do you think I would hesitate a minute between 
a highly respectable, cowardly, lying, lazy, domestic 
bully and an open-hearted murderer, especially if he 
171 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

were, like Stephen, courageous, straightforward, 
and affectionate ? Not for one minute ! ” 

“Aunt Lorinda, you are hard upon the dead. 
Remember, nil nisi homimf^ 

“ Rubbish ! The bad were no better for now 
being dead. Would you hesitate yourself?” 

“ We are not called upon to decide that question.” 

“ / am. And I know and you know, you would 
rather see Bessie in her grave than married to an- 
other Alfred Chauncey.” 

Dr. Thorne made no reply. 

“ Whereas Stephen,” she continued, “ with all his 
badness, — and Heaven knows he was bad enough! 
— had something that made you side with him, 
something you couldn’t help respecting. You can 
admit that, I suppose, without endangering your 
soul?” 

Her nephew smiled. 

“Yes; I admit that.” 

His affection for the vanished murderer, although 
founded upon a short acquaintance, was solid and 
enduring. 

But to Dr. Thorne there came a trial of a some- 
what peculiar nature, and, in a sense, of his own 
creation. It even threatened to prove an obstacle to 
his usefulness. 

Frequent allusion, in his sermons and in private 
172 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

conversations, to the present comings of Our 
Saviour, while always doubted by the majority of 
his hearers, was at first accepted as the innocent 
hallucination of a poetic but over-credulous spirit. 
As years went on, this persistent faith in the testi- 
mony of a nameless witness came to be regarded as 
a mental weakness; and Dr. Thorne discovered by 
degrees that, instead of being welcomed as the her- 
ald of a glorious truth, he had become an object of 
compassion, and, at times, of ridicule. Those whose 
intimacy justified the liberty told him gently of his 
error. And then, in duty to himself and to his faith, 
he announced that he himself was the recipient of 
this visit, — that when in doubt whether to remain 
with his parish or devote his life to the criminal 
classes, Christ in person had appeared before him 
and hastened the decision. 

This confession, instead of satisfying his friends, 
had merely convinced them that he himself, and not 
the nameless witness was the innocent victim of a 
delusion; all the more regrettable because of his 
splendid attainments and his previous sanity. But 
in this case as with many others the believer’s ten- 
acity — or conviction — was stronger than human 
argument. And he yielded not. 

His knowledge of the world, however, and his 
broad experience soon taught him that to persist 

173 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

meant the ruin of his usefulness. Nevertheless, in 
private when the occasion justified, when those in 
affliction would accept this consolation, he never 
hesitated to impart it. 

For this compulsory silence there were compen- 
sations in the happiness of his daughter. It was 
five or six years after Captain Chauncey’s death that 
Bessie for the second time ventured forth upon the 
sands of matrimony. But between Captain Chaun- 
cey and Mr. Robert Fletcher there was little resem- 
blance. This second husband possessed but a single 
fault, — of domestic import, — and even that was not 
his own. It was the nature of his business. Being 
a civil engineer, his absences from home were fre- 
quent, and sometimes of long duration. These very 
absences, while a trial to the wife, were a gain to 
Dr. Thorne, as Bobbie, the marvellous, unexampled 
grandchild, became in such emergencies the compan- 
ion of his grandfather. Together they drove and 
■walked and played; they visited museums, panora- 
mas, and the animals in the park. 

One eventful afternoon in May, as they turned 
the corner of Fourth Avenue and Twenty-sixth 
Street. Bobbie pulled hard upon the hand that 
held his own, and brought his comrade to a 
halt. 

‘‘ Look ! ” 


174 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

There was excitement in his voice, and he pointed 
across the way. 

Dr. Thorne looked. His eyes encountered a 
colossal pictorial presentment, in vivid colors, of the 
scene within the building — as youthful hopes would 
have it. 

In the nearest foreground an elephant encircled 
with his trunk a Royal Bengal tiger, and pressed 
him to a gory death against his tusks. A second 
tiger lay crushed beneath his feet, while a third had 
sprung upon his flanks and was crawling upward 
toward the undaunted Orientals in the gold and 
crimson howdah. This episode, ignored by the 
other figures in its vicinity, had for its background 
an entrancing medley of lions and baby elephants, 
of clowns and Roman races, of zebras, hippopotami, 
and giraffes; of spotted ponies, gigantic anacondas, 
and tutored pigs, all apparently on terms of friendly 
intimacy. The air above was palpitant with acro- 
bats in dazzling colors, with human cannon-balls, 
and maids in silken nakedness, wingless but serene. 

‘‘ Grandpa, do they do all those things ? ’’ 

Dr. Thorne, knowing that tigers were expensive, 
and being familiar with certain laws of gravitation, 
hesitated before replying. But no reply was needed 
— at least from him. 

Beside them stood a group of ragamuffins, three of 

175 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 


whom were even younger than Bobbie. The fourth 
was older, — ^nearly seven, perhaps. 

‘‘ Say, Patsey,” said one of the diminutive, ‘‘ it 
ain’t really just like that, o’ course.” 

The older boy, in a hoarse voice, and in pity for 
the ignorance of infancy, replied sententiously, — 

‘‘ All what’s in that picture they does. And more 
too.” 

Bobbie whispered in excitement: 

Did you hear that ? ” 

His grandfather nodded. 

After another glance at the poster, Bobbie looked 
up again into his comrade’s face, and said, in sol- 
emn tones, — 

‘‘ I have never seen a circus.” 

His grandfather winced. If the boy had said, 
I have never tasted food,” the words could have 
brought no deeper shame. For Dr. Thorne was a 
human grandfather. He had not only been a boy 
himself, but he remembered, as if yesterday, the 
delirium of his own first circus. 

Bobbie saw his advantage and followed it up. 

‘‘ Let’s go!” 

Dr. Thorne looked away and tried to think. He 
had many things to do that afternoon, — his weekly 
visit to an old man at Avenue A, that meeting at 
the hospital — 


176 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 


^‘Lefs go now!'^ cried the tempter. Yes! oh, 
yes! There are people going in! Quick! Let’s 
hurry ! ” 

But the grandfather’s conscience was still awake. 
No; he must be firm. Another day would do as 
well. His duty first. 

As this resolve was made he looked down upon 
the upturned, eager face. The eyes were sparkling 
with an irrepressible excitement; also they seemed 
upon the verge of tears, and there was a quivering 
of the under lip. 

Five minutes later a big, benevolent face with 
heavy eyelids, appeared at the little window of the 
ticket-office. 

‘‘ Have you two good seats, rather near ? ” 

Yes, sir; the best in the house.” 

And the agent, in violation of his usual custom, 
shoved along the tickets before his hand was on the 
money. 

The seats were certainly good, but the distin- 
guished clergyman experienced a slight annoyance 
at finding himself in the front row of the front box 
in the very centre of the building. 

Not since early youth had he seen the circus, and 
now, as he found himself once again beneath the 
spell of sawdust rings, of trumpeting elephants, and 
of that reckless, rejuvenating music that tosses fluffy 
177 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

ladies into the enchanted air from horses’ backs, he 
felt a quickening of the blood, a revival of boyish 
interest. And Bobbie’s own enthusiasm was in it- 
self a stimulant. His exclamations of delight and 
wonder were so frequent and inspiriting that Dr. 
Thorne, without realizing it, was seeing the circus 
through his grandson’s eyes; and both enjoyed it in 
a proper spirit. The performing elephants, the 
clowns, The Champion Equestrian Acts by Four 
Arenic Queens,” the Japanese balancers, the acro- 
bats, the educated donkey, and the other dazzling 
delights were fully appreciated by the boy of six 
and by his comrade of sixty-nine. 

One performance proved of especial interest. A 
young man of fine physique, accompanied by a girl 
of twenty or thereabouts, — she also in tights, but 
with a muslin fluffiness about the hips and a yellow 
rose in her hair, — were swung high aloft to the 
flying-trapeze. Upon the program they figured as 
the ** Electrifying Bondinellis, whose Aerial Flights 
at Dizzy Altitudes, and whose hand to hand Catches 
in Space are the Wonder of Two Continents.” 

And the program in this case did not exaggerate. 
During these aerial flights Dr. Thorne gazed up- 
ward in silence fascination, while Bobbie, in the in- 
tensity of excitement, forgot to breathe. 

This young man and girl sailed leisurely through 
178 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

Space with the easy confidence of birds upon the 
wing. When they had attained a terrifying impetus 
upon a high trapeze, he let go his hold and floated 
upward and away, turned over in the air, all to the 
dreamy music of a waltz, and caught, with careless 
ease, an approaching bar that swung to meet him. 
Then, head downward, hanging by his legs, he 
swung to and fro, a tremendous distance. 

The music stopped, and the girl in a solemn 
silence shot away from her own trapeze. 

One halTsuppressed scream was the only sound 
from the human sea below them, and thousands of 
straining eyes followed the flying figure in its 
course. And then, when hope seemed lost, when the 
error of a second’s time meant a terrible descent, 
the strong arms of the living pendulum swung 
forth to meet her and caught the outstretched 
hands. 

The band burst forth into a triumphant air, and 
the vast audience, with a breath of relief, broke out 
into a vigorous clapping. 

As the trapeze swept backwards she clambered 
to the bar, and there, sitting aloft with smiling 
faces, this empyrean youth and maiden tossed to 
the audience beneath those volatile kisses we receive 
only from circus-riders, athletes, and the ladies of 
the ballet. 


179 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

While the girl returned to earth by a rope, the 
usual way, her companion climbed higher still, to 
another bar, at the very summit of the arching roof. 
There he stood up, and jumped. Head foremost 
he started earthward, and half-way down he turned 
over twice, not nervously or in haste, but leisurely, 
with a kind of bravado, as if time, space, and the 
laws of gravitation were unimportant trifles. With 
tremendous force he landed in the net upon his 
back and bounded upward over a dozen feet. The 
second time he landed on his legs, clambered to the 
edge, and lowered himself jauntily to the ground. 
Here he rejoined the girl. Then followed more 
applause, and in return more finger-tip kisses were 
tossed to the audience, which, instead of being far 
beneath, now towered above them. 

In stepping from the centre of the arena, this 
dauntless couple, to avoid a flurry of incoming 
horses, approached within fifty feet of Dr. Thorne. 
He was watching them closely, indulging in a 
hasty speculation as to the rare mental and mus- 
cular outfit demanded in so hazardous a voca- 
tion. 

The youth, after carelessly scanning, as he 
walked, the countless throng that arose in tiers 
above them, met the gaze that was fixed intently 
upon him. Both faces brightened with a sudden 
i8o 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 


recognition. Dr. Thorne straightened up and 
leaned slightly forward. 

Yes! There was no mistake. The honest eyes 
of Stephen Wadsworth were smiling back at him! 

And there was little change. Fourteen years 
had simply developed without altering either the 
contour or the character of his face. But in the 
same instant he was gone, obscured with his com- 
panion in a confusion of advancing horses. 


i8i 


X 


W HEN Dr. Thorne, on the following day, 
returned home for his noonday meal, 
he discovered that he had missed a 
visit from the newly found Stephen. Knowing 
there was a performance every afternoon and 
evening, and as he himself was rarely at home 
in the morning, he resolved to call at the circus. 
So, about three o’clock he betook himself to the 
Fourth Avenue end of the colossal building. Seeing 
an open door through which a groom with two 
white horses had just emerged, he entered. But 
a man stepped before him with the information, 
politely given, that no strangers were admitted. 
The visitor explained the object of his errand, but 
was told the rules could not be broken. As he 
took a card from his pocket to write a line for 
Stephen, a thin, sallow, black-bearded man stepped 
forward and raised his hat. 

‘‘ Can I do anything for you. Dr. Thorne ? ’’ 
Then, in answer to an inquiring look, he continued. 
You do not remember me, Simeon Bassett? 
182 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

Not the Reverend Simeon Bassett, who left 
for India to convert the heathen?” 

‘‘Yes, sir; the same.” 

“ Well,” said Dr. Thorne, “ I never should have 
known you, Mr. Bassett. You have grown a beard 
since then. But isn’t it a long jump from the mis- 
sionary field to the circus?” 

“Yes, sir; but an easy one. I found there was 
more profit and more peace of mind in reforming 
animals than in wrestling with the contented 
heathen.” 

“ I am not surprised.” 

“ I joined a company to furnish wild beasts for 
menageries and — well, it’s a long story. But here 
I am, and I have been here for three years.” 

“ And all for the best, I have no doubt. It may 
be hard on the animals, but the heathen should be 
grateful.” 

Mr. Bassett smiled. 

“ Yes, I remember you said something like that 
at the time. But I was younger then, and bound 
to go. Some of us are slower than others in learn- 
ing to respect other people’s opinions. But is there 
anything I can do for you here? Did you want to 
come in ? ” 

When Dr. Thorne told his errand, the ex-mission- 
ary, who appeared to be a person in authority, led 

183 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

him inside, begged him to make himself at home, to 
come and go as he pleased, and to remain as long as 
necessary. Then, excusing himself, as his duties 
called him below among the animals, he took his 
leave. 

Dr. Thorne, as he glanced about, could easily 
have believed himself in a waiting-room of the 
Circus Maximus, twenty centuries ago. The space 
itself, large, irregular, with a high ceiling, was the 
area enclosed by the outer corners of the building 
and the long, curving wall of the amphitheatre. A 
high archway opened into the arena. Two solid 
gates closed the lower portion, but above these 
could be seen the audience towering tier above tier, 
the countless faces bathed in a soft, warm light 
diffused by the canvas awnings high above. Music, 
laughter, and applause, with the snapping of whips 
and occasional shouts of performers were distinctly 
heard, while around him on every side moved 
figures in strange attire, — athletes, who might have 
been gladiators from the Colosseum; two drivers 
in the chariot races, whom he took at first for 
Roman matrons; a man in a scarlet tunic, a fillet 
about his head; ladies of shimmering limbs and 
scant attire, at home on the bareback horses ; clowns, 
acrobats, and others, all strolling about or standing 
in groups. A few, encased in ample wrappers, 
184 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

always of the most vivid colors, moved here and 
there as in the Baths of Caracalla. Some were 
chatting and laughing, others practising their tricks 
or limbering their muscles. And to his left, drawn 
up in line against the wall, stood Roman chariots, 
one of crimson, one of white, and one of yellow, 
all with golden trimmings. 

As he moved toward the arch, he was startled 
by an unfamiliar object close beside him, the pretty 
face of a girl, ‘‘ The Champion Female Contor- 
tionist, La Belle Zedora,” in tights, her supple form 
bent backward in a circle ; and she looked pleasantly 
up at him from between her lavender legs. In 
mild astonishment he halted at this uncommon 
spectacle, and as he did so the two heavy gates 
were opened wide. 

A band of actors for the high trapeze, some jug- 
glers, and a bevy of clowns skipped out and away, 
and a pair of huge white horses guided by a man 
in a yellow tunic with silver bands, a foot on either 
steed, dashed out into the arena. He was followed 
by another rider in different colors, on a similar 
pair. And before the gates were closed a troop of 
performers came running in, athletes and tumblers 
in the gayest tints, some tight-rope dancers, and a 
comic family in evening dress: these, closely fol- 
lowed by liveried servants of the circus bearing 

185 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

three gigantic rolls of carpet just taken from the 
rings. 

These rolls of carpet were deposited near the 
wall; and upon one of them Dr. Thorne found a 
comfortable seat upon which to wait for Stephen. 

Close beside him a clown in grotesquely ample 
robes, black with orange stars and crescents, as he 
fondled the ears of the educated pig was arguing 
earnestly with ‘‘ Miss Leonie Latour, the Living 
Arrow.’' A short distance from the closed gates, 
just far enough away to see above them, was 
gathered a group of acrobats, some in pink, others 
in blue or white or lavender tights, watching the 
performance on the high trapeze. 

A flood of light, and it seemed to Dr. Thorne a 
flood of music, also, came down through the arch 
and enveloped this brilliant company. From two 
or three came a muttered “ Ah ! ” and a deep- 
chested, solid little man, in creamy tights with a 
waist-cloth of emerald green, added, — 

‘‘ Yes, and he missed it yesterday too.” 

A moment later, from the wild haste of the music 
and the shouts beyond the gates, the visitor knew 
that the four white horses with their standing riders 
were having a tumultuous finish to their race 
around the long arena. 

As he sat watching this scene, so novel that it 
1 86 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

seemed unreal, he partook involuntarily of its spirit, 
—of its freedom, its brilliant colors, and its 
repressed excitement. The music, headlong, up- 
lifting, and incessant, prevented any return to earth, 
and dispelled, for a time at least, all memories of his 
ordinary life. Even the errand that brought him 
here was driven to the background. 

Beside the long, curving wall that divided this 
assembly-room from the arena, he noticed three 
figures as they came toward him, — a woman in a 
riding-habit with a scarlet jacket; another woman, 
slight, with delicate features and dressed in black; 
and between them a girl eneveloped in a bright- 
colored wrap, such as many of the circus women 
throw about them when not performing. These 
wraps were long and loose, completely covering 
the figure, and generally of a brilliant color. 

The girl, a little below the usual height, with 
black hair and a low forehead, had a wide, short, 
juvenile face. Her eyes were dark and far apart. 
To the observant philosopher upon the roll of carpet 
it was an attractive face, and one that aroused his 
interest. She seemed Italian or Spanish — some- 
thing not American. But as they came nearer he 
found that she was speaking English fluently and 
without the slightest accent. At the present mo- 
ment she and the scarlet equestrienne were laugh- 

187 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 


ing merrily, while the older woman smiled in a per- 
functory way, more from a sense of duty than from 
any inward pressure. 

It seemed to Dr. Thorne he had seen this girl 
before. A moment later he thought he recognized 
her as the person who accompanied Stephen in his 
celestial excursions. Regarding her more carefully, 
he began to be sure of it. There, too, was the 
yellow rose in her hair he had noticed yesterday. 

As they came nearer, she laid a hand on the older 
woman’s arm, and, indicating the other end of the 
carpet upon which he was sitting, said in a pleasant 
voice, — 

‘‘ Sit there, mamma, and don’t get so tired as 
you did yesterday.” 

In doing this, the front of the yellow wrap was 
opened, and he saw that she was in tights. 

Nodding his massive head in acquiescence, Dr. 
Thorne returned the smile with which her eyes met 
his, and edged farther along. By a movement of 
the head and another smile, simple and friendly, 
she thanked him; then, after a word or two with 
her mother, she and her companion turned away 
and continued their walk. 

He noticed, as he studied her with increasing in- 
terest, that her eyes were continually wandering 
toward a little staircase in a distant corner. This 

i88 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 


staircase, he decided, from occasional male per- 
formers who descended it, led to the men’s dressing- 
room above. Her eyes seemed to travel in that 
direction of their own accord, and he believed that 
she would have been exceedingly surprised, and 
perhaps embarrassed, had she known that a casual 
observer detected the eagerness of her watch. 

Moreover, this casual observer, being somewhat 
imaginative, wove a little romance. 

She was in love with Stephen I Of course ! How 
could it be otherwise ? When a girl is launched into 
space twice a day with Death below, and invariably 
rescued by an adoring youth who never fails her 
what other result could be expected? And he, 
cool, brave, with arms of iron — and always there! 
She knew — probably — that he would rather miss a 
bar himself than be late at that aerial rendez- 
vous. 

As for Stephen’s loving her, why, the cool ob- 
server himself was gently smitten, and merely from 
sitting here and watching her. 

Belief in this romance of his own construction 
was strengthened by a look that came at last into 
the heroine’s face. As her glance for the twentieth 
time wandered furtively toward the stairs, there 
came a sudden brightening of the eyes, as if illu- 
mined by a welcome message; a smile, a familiar 
189 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

jiod, and Dr. Thorne, turning his own eyes in the 
same direction, saw without surprise the expected 
Stephen. 

The young man, in pink tights, a dark blue 
wrapper tossed carelessly over his arm, strode with 
the swinging, half-clumsy gait of the professional 
athlete toward the approaching figures. The 
promise of a splendid physique given in his boyhood 
by the compensating Providence had been faith- 
fully fulfilled. His straight, full neck, deep chest, 
and muscular limbs gave evidence of uncommon 
strength. With the Acropolis for a background, he 
would easily have passed at the present moment for 
some Olympian hero. His face, except that his 
chin and jaw were a trifle fuller, seemed but little 
changed ; and with his greeting to his friends came 
the same frank, friendly smile that Dr. Thorne had 
first encountered in the little cemetery, fourteen 
years ago, that Sunday morning when they shook 
hands upon a bargain. 

As the three were standing together, — ^the scarlet 
equestrienne, the girl in her yellow wrap, and the 
athlete in his shimmering silken tights, — the pon- 
derous visitor, a sombre contrast in his every-day 
black, approached the gorgeous trio, and touched 
the gladiator upon the arm. 

‘‘ Stephen Wadsworth ? ’’ 

190 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

The young man turned. His face lit up, and he 
seized the extended hand. 

‘‘Why, Dr. Thorne!^’ 

Then followed expressions of surprise and pleas- 
ure, with many questions. 

The two women backed away and continued 
their walk. Dr. Thorne looked earnestly into the 
clear gray eyes, now nearly on a level with his own ; 
and he found they told the same old tale of purity 
and truth, of child-like confidence and incorruptible 
honor. He wondered if they were still misleading, 
and into what paths of vice or virtue their owner’s 
peculiar morals had caused him to travel. 

“ And now tell me cf yourself, Stephen. You 
would not believe me if I should say how often I 
have thought of you. Have you been a good boy or 
a bad boy? Tell me the truth. You know you can 
trust me.” 

“ Indeed I do ! ” and Stephen began a rapid his- 
tory of his career. 

But the whole space was now filling up with 
mounted huntsmen in top hats and scarlet coats, 
they and their horses crowding every one against 
the wall. So the two friends walked away along 
by the wall, and Stephen told of his stealing a ride 
on a train, and of his joining a travelling circus, 
three days after leaving Lynstock; of how he and 
191 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 


two Other boys were taught somersaults, the high 
trapeze, forming pyramids, and various things; 
that he did this for four or five years. Then for a 
time he gave up the circus, but took it up again 
when he met Filippa. 

“Filippa? Who is that?” 

She is the girl I act with. You must have seen 
her. She was talking with me just now.” 

Indeed I did ! And a most attractive little per- 
son ! How long have you known her ? ” 

Oh, two years, about.” 

Are you — is she — you are not married ? ” 

‘‘ No, sir.” 

There was a silence ; Stephen evidently hesitating, 
but with something to impart. Then, as they 
turned about to return, he stopped and said 
earnestly, — 

‘‘ I want to marry Filippa, but her mother won’t 
let us.” 

“ Why not ? Doesn’t she like you ? ” 

‘‘ No, she hates me.” 

“ Why so, Stephen ? What have you done ? ” 

‘‘ Nothing. She gives no reason, only says she 
doesn’t trust me.” 

‘‘Is Filippa willing?” 

“ Oh, yes ! Filippa’s all right ! ” 

Their eyes met and both smiled. The older man 
192 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 


saw, in the younger one’s face, the same outward 
manifestation of an inward content that he had 
observed in the maiden a very few minutes before. 

‘‘ Well, it’s too bad the parent is unwilling. Are 
you sure she has no reason for it ? What were you 
doing the three years you were out of the circus 
business ? ” 

The lover hesitated. 

But she has no idea of what I was doing then.” 

** Very likely, but what were you doing? ” 

There was another silence, during which Stephen 
looked down and picked at the band of silver lace 
about his wrist. 

Come, tell me ! Perhaps I may help you in 
this business. I certainly will if I can.” 

The youth straightened up eagerly. 

‘‘ Perhaps you can I You might bring her 
round ! ” 

“ But I must first know the man I am to bring 
her round to ; ” and the big brown face with the 
half-closed eyes moved slowly with a negative 
shake. 

‘‘ Well, sir, if you remember, you made me 
promise that I would never steal again. It was 
after I took the cook’s money.” 

‘‘ Yes, I remember.” 

I have kept that promise. I have never stolen 

193 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

a thing since that day; and he raised his face with 
a half-defiant movement, as if prepared to have the 
statement doubted. 

I believe you, Stephen,’' was the quiet answer. 

** When I was dead broke and I needed money, 
I fell foul of an old pal of dad’s who shoved the 
queer — that is — counterfeit money.” 

“ Yes, I know.” 

“ He made it, and I shoved it. But it wasn’t 
stealing.” 

‘‘ No, not literally, perhaps, but too near it for 
moral comfort. You took what didn’t belong to 
you every time you passed it.” 

Yes, sir, I know that, but I had big tempta- 
tions to break my promise literally, as you say. I 
never did, though.” 

Dr. Thorne laid his hand on Stephen’s shoulder. 

“ My boy,” he said gently, ‘‘ I am not blaming 
you, for I can guess at your temptations. I know 
the obstacles you had to overcome, and your regard 
for your promise is greatly to your honor. How 
long is it since you have ‘ shoved the queer ’ ? ” 

Not since I promised Filippa.” 

Ah! Then you told Filippa everything?” 

Yes, sir, everything.” 

'' And still she is willing to marry you ? ” 

Yes.” 


194 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

And that temper, — have you outgrown it ? ** 
Stephen’s face became serious. He replied in a 
melancholy tone and there was a note of despair, — 
“ No ; I suppose I never shall.” 

Dr. Thorne looked gravely into his friend’s eyes, 
“ Have you told her that ? ” 

Yes, sir.” 

‘‘ The whole truth about it, — of how sudden, un- 
reliable, and dangerous it is ? ” 

“ Yes, everything.” 

‘‘ And even that makes no difference ? ” 

No, sir, not a bit.” 

Dr. Thorne compressed his lips and looked 
thoughtfully away. 

How foolish women are ! ” he muttered. 

The lover smiled, straightened up, and folded 
his arms across his chest. 

“ But I am just as foolish. Nothing could 
prevent my marrying her, either ! ” 

‘‘ Nothing that she could do, however bad? ” 
‘‘No, sir; nothing!” 

His companion sighed. “ Youth and faith, — 
what splendid things they are ! ” 

As they started on, there came from the distant 
band a sudden pause ; then, from around the curving 
wall, a din as of innumerable hammers, and again 
burst forth the music, louder and faster than before. 

195 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

“What is all that, Stephen?” 

‘‘ Those hurdle- jumpers that we just left. At a 
signal they all start at once; the horses know the 
signal and get excited. That racket is their shoes 
on the wooden floor/’ 

‘‘ Ah, yes, to be sure ! But tell me how it is that, 
loving this girl and having, presumably, some 
regard for her safety, you can take her to crazy 
altitudes and induce her to throw herself into the 
arms of death? Of course you know, and perhaps 
better than I do, that the slightest error, if it failed 
to kill, would cripple her for life.” 

No, the net is beneath ; and, besides, I shall 
never miss her.” 

The serenity and confidence with which this was 
uttered filled the older man with a secret admira- 
tion. He looked again at the arms with bulging 
muscles, the full neck and chest, and the virile, 
somewhat lordly stride. Had Stephen been his own 
son, his pride and interest, his sense of responsibility 
and feeling of proprietorship, could hardly have 
been greater. 

And besides,” added the gladiator, turning 
toward him with a more mirthful smile, it is my 
one way of circumventing the old lady. She won’t 
let me come near Filippa, and these are the only 
times we are alone together. We do all our talking 
196 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

and — and love-making up in the air. No one can 
overhear us, and to hold her hand is part of the 
performance.” 

Do you mean to say that in the midst of that 
life-and-death business you are billing and cooing? 
Demented children! You ought to have a guard- 
ian! Isn’t there some reliable old chaperone to go 
up there with you ? ” 

The lover laughed, — a triumphant chuckle. 

‘‘ No, there are none to be had ; but Mrs. Zaba- 
relli would like to go up there herself mighty 
well!” 

The older man shook his head. 

“ Don’t get careless because you can do it 
easily.” 

They found Mrs. Zabarelli with Filippa by her 
side, still sitting upon the roll of carpet. 

The two women arose as Stephen presented his 
friend. Dr. Thorne was of a type rarely seen about 
the dressing-rooms of this or of any other circus, 
and both mother and daughter regarded him with a 
feeling of awe. But this visitor, from his life of 
promiscuous benevolence, had been for years fa- 
miliar with every grade of society. His manner 
was genial, and sufficiently familiar to remove what- 
ever constraint his clerical air and imposing pres- 
ence might at first produce. 

197 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

“ Stephen and I are very old friends, and are 
naturally very glad to meet again/' 

And his glance went from mother to daughter 
with a smile which included all in the pleasure of 
reunion. Filippa returned his smile with one yet 
warmer and more trusting. 

As he looked down into the wide, short face, 
and into the eyes that met his own with a simple 
confidence, half timidly yet without embarrassment, 
he tried to remember what familiar picture she re- 
called. Was it some Italian portrait, or was it his 
photograph of a contadina? Or that woman in 
yellow by Lucca Giordano? Or could it be, after 
all, the Sistine Madonna? However, his heart 
went out to her, this cheerful, acrobatic inamorata 
of his newly recovered friend. One look into her 
face left little doubt of an affectionate nature and a 
sunny disposition. When she smiled, her whole 
face responded, the eyebrows lifting themselves 
further from the eyes and taking additional curves. 
Her mouth was not large in repose, but expanded 
when she laughed and showed two rows of very 
white and even teeth. There was something defer- 
ential in her manner, which at the same time gave 
the impression that she was waiting patiently for 
an excuse for mirth. 

Dr. Thorne became soon convinced that she was 
198 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 


a frank, reasonable, high-minded little person, and 
that her influence over Stephen must be greatly for 
his good. 

In figure she was slight, although with a certain 
plumpness, and her sloping shoulders were well 
rounded. He observed that her bare arms, when- 
ever they appeared from beneath the yellow wrap- 
per, were also plump. 

She endeavored, as they stood talking together,, 
to conceal her interest in the admiring Stephen ; and 
he also at times, as is the habit of lovers, overshot 
the mark and made clumsy, transparent efforts to^ 
ignore the existence of the being who was of more 
importance to him than sun, earth, air, or food. 
But the heavy-faced visitor saw more than his 
friend suspected. He observed from beneath the 
slumbrous eyelids various subtle interchanges, cer- 
tain contacts of elbows prolonged and seemingly 
accidental, and occasional postponed avowals, which 
he knew would soon be uttered on the high trapeze. 

After a moment’s conversation, and when the 
constraint caused by an ecclesiastical presence had 
been dispelled, Filippa, with her head a trifle on 
one side, and with a thoughtful expression, 
said, — 

“If you knew Stephen fourteen years ago, he 
must have been a little boy.” 

199 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

“ Yes, he was a boy, but not so very little. He 
was eleven years old.” 

“Was he an interesting boy?” 

“ Oh, come, Filippa ! What a silly question ! ” 
and the young man frowned and drew back a step. 

“ Well, yes,” was answered in a serious tone. 
“ Yes, he was interesting. But, of course, he was 
bad. All boys are that.” 

“ Was he very bad? ” 

“ Oh, no ! And it was a good kind of bad, not 
a bad bad, — not a vicious kind of badness. And 
so we never quarrelled, and we had perfect con- 
fidence in each other.” 

As Filippa turned a triumphant glance toward 
her mother, Stephen nodded assent, but added, — 

“ There’s no doubt of my confidence in you, sir, 
but I don’t see how you could have had much in 
me.” 

Dr. Thorne, looking down into the face that 
suggested so many Italian resemblances, now up- 
turned with the warmest interest to his own, said, — 

“ And I am forced to admit that I believe his 
virtues are many times greater than his faults.” 

There was pleasure in Filippa’s eyes as these 
words were uttered, and she turned them with a 
childish pride upon the embarrassed youth. He 
thereupon, with a little color in his face, appeared 
200 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 


absorbed in the contemplation of his knuckles. She 
reached forth and drew this hand toward her, 
straightening out the little finger. Upon it was a 
plain gold ring. 

‘‘ Look at that, Dr. Thorne ! she exclaimed. 

He has worn this ring for years, and now he canT 
get it off. He will surely have trouble with it, 
won’t he? Can’t you persuade him? ” 

Persuade him ! I will resort to brute force if 
necessary. What is it you wish ? ” 

I want him to have that ring taken off. His 
finger is in a horrid condition. Just look at it! 
Don’t you think it ought to come off ? ” 

Certainly, I do. The flesh is inflamed. What 
is the matter with it, Stephen? ” 

Oh, nothing ! I scratched my finger the other 
day, that’s all, and the ring is tight.” 

Tight ! I should say it was I Why, it is almost 
out of sight I ” 

‘Wes,” said Filippa,' “ and it is getting worse 
every day! He has a silly superstition against 
removing it. Do talk to him ! ” 

“ Seriously, Stephen,” said Dr. Thorne, looking 
closely at the finger, “ I really think it is a question 
of having either the ring or your finger taken off. 
I shouldn’t trifle with it, if I were you. Why do 
you hesitate ? ” 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

Stephen withdrew the hand, and answered after 
a silence, — 

“ My father gave it to me years ago, just before 
I turned up at Lynstock, and told me never to take 
it off. I have only done it once, when I had the 
ring made bigger; and this little scratch I thought 
would heal of itself.” 

But you can have the ring enlarged and put on 
another finger. It may be a serious matter if 
neglected. Take my advice and don’t trifle with it. 
Consult a doctor if you are in doubt, and see what 
he says.” 

‘‘ All right, sir; I will attend to it.” 

“ But when? ” asked Filippa, with a frown and a 
solemn shake of the head. “ You have said that 
before, you foolish boy, but you never do any- 
thing.” 

“ Attend to it this afternoon after the perform- 
ance,” said Dr. Thorne. 

Stephen hesitated. 

“ Come, give me your hand, and promise on 
your honor that you will have it taken off to- 
day.” 

Stephen laid his hand in the extended palm, and 
replied, — 

“ All right, sir ; I promise.” 

Thank you,” said Filippa, looking up into the 
202 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

clergyman’s face; “I shouldn’t wonder if you had 
saved his finger. He has been very horrid about 
it, just obstinate;” and with a reproving look she 
laid a very small fist upon Stephen’s chest. From 
the character of the smile with which the trapezist 
looked down into Filippa’s face, the visitor sus- 
pected that had the lovers been alone, the scene 
would have ended with less formality. 

Stephen evidently felt that some explanation was 
required, for he added, — 

I don’t know as my father really thought the 
ring could bring good luck, but I remember dis- 
tinctly his telling me never to take it off; and I 
wanted to do as he said.” 

‘‘ Which is a good sentiment,” said Dr. Thorne; 
‘‘ but I am sure — ” 

At this point the gates beside them were thrown 
wide apart, the environing space again was flooded 
with light and music, and the acrobats, clowns, 
Japanese jugglers, and various performers who had 
been hovering idly about, started forth into the 
arena, a medley of brilliant colors. 

Filippa, with a slight change of color, — for ap- 
pearing in her own limbs at close quarters before 
such a person as Dr. Thorne was a new experience, 
— threw off the yellow wrap and gave it to her 
mother; Stephen tossed his own to one of the at- 
203 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 


tendants; then both, with a hasty adieu, joined the 
glittering throng and tripped through the archway, 
out into the glare and music. 

Dr. Thorne caught a sudden glimpse — impres- 
sive, almost unreal — of countless faces rising one 
above another. He heard the cracking of whips 
and the clapping of hands; then dozens of horses 
with riders in scarlet coats — men, women, and chil- 
dren — came clattering through the opening with a 
tremendous pounding of iron shoes upon the floor. 
The gates as suddenly closed, and again there was 
calmness. And again the visitor admired the sys- 
tem and the quiet order which governed every 
detail of the exhibition. The riders dismounted, 
the horses were led below, and once more the space 
before the Roman chariots was comparatively 
vacant. 

Finding himself alone beside the slender woman 
in black, he resolved to ascertain the real state of 
her feelings and to say a word for Stephen. This 
second resolve was not sanctioned by his conscience, 
as he felt that his own personal liking was no 
equivalent for the moral deficiencies of his friend, 
nor a reason for inducing any mother to select him 
as a son-in-law. No one knew better than Dr. 
Thorne that Stephen, while of interest as a psy- 
chological study and the possessor of admirable 
204 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 


qualities, was not a suitor to meet the approval of a 
dutiful parent. 

And what daughter, not blinded by love, would 
put her trust in one who had inherited a constitu- 
tional inability to discern right from wrong, with 
whom morality, as an abstract force, did not exist, 
and whose rage was not only entirely beyond his 
own control but of a murderous quality? Yet she 
existed, and he believed her a woman not only of 
the purest character but of fine perceptions. 

Mrs. Zabarelli, slight of figure, and all in black, 
with Filippa’s yellow wrap across her arm, stood 
leaning against the wall as one who finds any sup- 
port a relief. She was a delicate woman, rather 
pretty; and as Dr. Thorne looked down into the 
sensitive, anxious face, he divined that she had 
known less of joy than of trouble, and that excess 
of caution had developed, as the years went by, into 
an habitual suspicion. 

Our seats seem to have disappeared, and I am 
afraid you are tired,’^ he said. “ Is there no place 
you can sit until your daughter returns? 

Yes, sir; I sometimes sit in one of those 
chariots. They do not go in until Filippa comes 
out.’' 

And she looked toward the nearest chariot, be- 
side which stood a sumptuous figure. 

205 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

If Dr. Thorne had encountered this personage 
some centuries earlier, he might have taken him for 
a Roman general. The authorities of the circus, in 
selecting the costumes of their charioteers, had ob- 
viously been guided more by an eye to effect than 
by historical accuracy. A fillet of yellow ribbon 
about his head, a crimson peplum hanging from 
the shoulders, a chest and stomach heavily em- 
bossed in gold, were the impressive accessories to 
an Irish face. 

This resplendent individual nodded pleasantly as 
they approached. 

“ Good-day, Mrs. Zabarelli. Are ye to honor 
my gig to-day by a sate on it ? ’’ 

‘‘ Yes, Mr. Phelan, if you are willing.” 

‘‘Willing? I should say!” 

And with the end of the crimson peplum he 
dusted the floor of his classic vehicle. He greeted 
Dr. Thorne by bringing a finger to his forehead in 
a salutation that suggested both the barracks and 
the stable. “ And your charming daughter, Mrs. 
Zabarelli, in another minute will be sailin’ through 
the heavens like an angel — as she is.” 

With a cock of his head he moved away, and 
remained in front of his four horses, conversing 
with a lady who resembled the mother of the Grac- 
chi. She also was the driver of a chariot. 

206 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

The floor of the cumbrous vehicle was the right 
height for a comfortable seat, but Mrs. Zabarelli 
hesitated, as she saw no place for her companion. 
But he insisted ; and as she took it, his eyes fell upon 
a gaily painted tub close at hand, the tub upon which 
the baby elephant had brought shrieks of merri- 
ment from countless children. This he rolled a little 
nearer his companion, and he also had a seat. 

Our young people seem rather fond of each 
other,^’ he began, coming at once to the point, as he 
knew the time was limited in which they were to 
be alone. 

Into Mrs. Zabarelli’s face came a troubled ex- 
pression. 

Yes, they are, I think.” 

Then a pause. Dr. Thorne was diplomatic, and 
he knew his mission to be delicate. With a smile he 
continued, — 

If I were younger, I should put in a claim 
myself.” 

She tried to smile. 

‘‘ Yes, Filippa is a good girl ; everything in the 
world to me.” 

And Stephen is a manly fellow.” 

“ Yes, I suppose he is.” 

She looked down and smoothed Filippa's yellow 
cloak as it lay across her lap. 

V 

207 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

“ And improves as he gets older/ ^ his champion 
added. 

She looked up, and regarded her ponderous vis- 
a-vis with a half-suspicious air. “ There is great 
room for improvement.” 

‘‘You refer to his hasty temper?” 

“ It is more than hasty,” she said with animation; 
“ it is murderous. He almost killed a man here, 
not two months agoi ” 

Turning partly about and indicating one of the 
ring-masters, a heavy muscular man, getting some 
horses into line, she continued: 

“ Mr. Wadsworth struck at his face, and Mr. 
Hacklander warded it off ; but a second blow hit him 
somewhere below the heart, I think, and everybody 
thought he was killed. He sank to the floor and 
could hardly breathe for some minutes. His face 
was like chalk.” 

Dr. Thorne closed his eyes and slowly shook his 
head. 

“ I am sorry to hear that.” 

With a solemn, somewhat terrified expression, she 
added, — 

“ And that may happen to any one, to his best 
friends; for he says himself it comes and goes be- 
fore he realizes what has happened.” 

“ I hoped he had outgrown those attacks.” 

208 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 


^‘Oh, not at all!’’ she exclaimed. ‘‘If one of 
those blows should strike his wife, or any woman, 
it would kill her. No, I should be a bad mother to 
trust my daughter in such hands.” 

“ Poor Stephen ! I cannot express to you how 
sorry I am to hear this. But do you believe, Mrs. 
Zabarelli, that he would ever strike a woman, and 
above all his own wife? His anger, however 
violent, would certainly stop this side of that.” 

She shook her head. 

“ I should never trust him. And besides his 
temper, his eyes are — well, unpleasant.” 

“ Unpleasant I ” exclaimed her companion, in as- 
tonishment. “ Why I never encountered a more 
honest pair ! If he could only live up to those eyes 
he would be too immaculate for an earthly life ! ” 

“ Yes, sir, I know ; and that I suppose is partly 
what makes me suspicious. They are too good. 
They are false, and they fill me with a kind of ter- 
ror. It may be some horrid association,” and she 
drew her hand across her brow as if to recall a fu- 
gitive memory, “ but I feel there is danger behind 
them. I can’t get over it, and I know it is not en- 
tirely imagination.” 

“ It might be. People have often been power- 
fully influenced by fancied resemblances — by ideas 
that have proved stronger than their reason.” 

209 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

“ But there is something more than that. I feel 
— but I can’t explain it.” 

Into the worn, anxious face had come an expres- 
sion of dread, and the lips were drawn with a pain- 
ful intensity, as if confronting some mysterious 
calamity. While Dr. Thorne sympathized with 
what he could not help regarding as a purely ner- 
vous condition, he felt that, in this particular at 
least, there was injustice to Stephen. 

During the silence in which he hesitated for a 
reply, the music ceased, and he knew that Filippa 
was about to swing off into space, to be met by the 
dangerous lover, now swooping through the 
heavens like a retrieving angel, and guided by the 
unerring eyes whose truth and honor were being 
so bitterly denied. 

Mrs. Zabarelli also knew what the silence meant. 
She turned her head to one side and closed her 
eyes. There was a short but absolute stillness, then 
a burst of music, followed by a clapping of in- 
numerable hands telling them Filippa was again in 
safety. 

With a gentle smile, as their eyes met, he said, — 

‘‘ The false eyes, at least, are faithful to Filippa.” 

But the anxious mother was of too serious a mind 
to undertake a smile. She looked down and re- 
garded her own hands, 'which lay clasped upon the 
210 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 


gaudy garment in her lap. In a moment, however, 
she raised her face, and, bending slightly forward, 
said, — 

I know you think me very foolish to speak as 
I did of Stephen’s eyes, but it is no fancy of mine 
and no prejudice. It is very real, — so real that 
sometimes when he looks at me for a moment, I 
almost remember everything.” 

Her companion made no answer, and she con- 
tinued hastily, as she knew the present performance 
in the arena was now over : 

“ I would not do him an injustice for the world, 
as he is very good to us in many ways. He insists 
upon dividing equally with Filippa their weekly 
salary, when he of course does much more than she 
does. He really loves Filippa; I know that, but I 
must look out for her. No one should blame me for 
objecting to such a match.” 

“ Blame you ! Certainly not ! Your first thought 
is naturally for your daughter, and rightly too. 
But let us try and know Stephen better. I shall 
find out all I can and be perfectly honest with you.” 

Both arose to their feet, as the gates had opened 
for the returning performers. With an encourag- 
ing smile he held out his hand. Trust in me. I 
am an old hand at such matters. We will see that 
no harm overtakes Filippa.” 

2II 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 


With a more contented expression and with a 
word of thanks she laid a hand in his. 

Stephen and Filippa came running through the 
archway, pursued by the uplifting music. The mel- 
low light of the amphitheatre behind them, the vast 
audience towering high on every side, the excited 
horses and their gayly colored riders dashing madly 
about the arena, were all far more impressive than 
as seen from the auditorium itself. 

Filippa, whose graceful scantiness of costume 
suggested a spirit from more ethereal realms, tripped 
lightly toward them; and the yellow wrapper, out- 
stretched by maternal hands, was thrown about her 
shoulders. The rose, which the visitor now saw 
to be of paper, had become unfastened, and was 
dangling from the hair, also looser and disarranged 
since its owner had swung head downward through 
the air. She was breathing hard ; and as she shook 
hands with Dr. Thorne and said good-by, he saw 
in her eyes an exhilaration and content not produced 
by exercise alone. 

Was love, so high above the earth, more thrilling 
than terrestrial avowals? 

As she and her mother moved away, — the black 
€gure and the yellow, — ^he made a resolve that all 
that lay in his power to brighten their future should 
ae done, at whatever cost 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

He turned and confronted Stephen. The youth 
was smiling pleasantly upon him, and in his eyes he 
saw the same overflowing contentment. He also 
was breathing rapidly, as well he might. The last 
twenty minutes had been spent in a manner to test 
the hardest muscles and the coolest nerves. The 
happy, honest eyes moved involuntarily to the re- 
treating figures with a tenderness and expectancy 
which may have penetrated the yellow robe between 
Filippa’s shoulders; for she gave a backward look 
before disappearing around the curving wall — and 
a lingering, significant little nod. The amiable visi- 
tor concluded that this manoeuvre, from the manner 
of its execution, was of regular occurrence. 

Stephen accompanied his friend to the outer 
door, and readily accepted an invitation to dine with 
him on the following day, which was Sunday. A 
moment later, when Dr. Thorne found himself 
again upon the sidewalk, surrounded by the com- 
monplace scenes of daily life — men with trousers, 
women whose limbs were concealed by superfluous 
drapery, — and all the matter-of-fact dulness of prac- 
tical existence, and with no music, he felt as if sud- 
denly awakened from a dream. There was also a 
feeling of having descended at a single step from 
Imperial Rome to Manhattan Island. 


213 


XI 


S usual, after the performance that night, 



Stephen, with Filippa and her mother, 


^ left the circus and walked through 

Twenty-seventh Street to Third Avenue. This 
avenue, with its many lights, where all the world 
seemed out-of-doors, was, like many other New 
York aevnues on a summer evening, a scene of 
gayety and animation. 

As the three travellers stood waiting for an up- 
town car, the most conspicuous figure of the group 
was Stephen. His dark blue suit and colored shirt, 
his belt and russet shoes, were all in the prevailing 
summer fashion. And, altogether, with his truthful 
eyes and athletic figure he produced an acceptable 
impression of health and youth and vigor — and of 
surpassing honesty. 

Filippa, like her mother, was dressed in black, 
and very simply, wearing no color except a spot of 
crimson at her throat and another in her hat. 

They took an open car. Mrs. Zabarelli entered 
first, followed by her daughter, the young man last. 


214 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

keeping the outer seat. Mrs. Zabarelli, being sus- 
picious, cast occasional glances toward her daugh- 
ter’s lap. Filippa, aware of these suspicions, folded 
her plump little hands before her, and conversed 
gaily upon every subject, as if no lover were in 
sight. But the spirit that laughs at locksmiths di- 
rected one of Stephen’s hands to the nearest arm, 
the sleeve of which, being short and somewhat open 
from the elbow down, seemed to favor this ma- 
noeuvre. So during their journey— of a mile or 
more — he achieved two triumphs: one, the circum- 
vention of a watchful parent; the other, the main- 
tenance of a spiritual intercourse in which compres- 
sions, strokes, and taps conveyed subtle and multi- 
tudinous meanings. A general statement of ordi- 
nary significance when accompanied by one of these 
secret messages, took on at once a revivifying in- 
terest. Moreover, that hilarious little current that 
flies from lover to lover, even at fingers’ contact, 
expanded, in a case like this, to an intoxicating 
revel. 

When Filippa, in descending from the car, placed 
her hand in Stephen’s, it received a gentle yet em- 
phatic pressure, — a tender, melancholy, yet assuring 
grasp; for this was their adieu as regarded inter- 
course of that character, both believing that until to- 
morrow afternoon, on the high trapeze with thou- 

215 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 


sands looking on, they — the hands — would probably 
have no chance for meeting. This pressure was 
affectionately returned. 

Eastward, toward the river, Filippa in the mid- 
dle, they walked along the quiet street, — and slowly, 
for the night was warm. 

Filippa was the first to speak. 

“ He seems a very nice man, your friend ? ** 

“What friend?’' 

“ The big clergyman who was at the circus this 
afternoon, — Mr. Thorne, — so kind and gentle.” 

“ The best man in the world ! ” said Stephen. 
“ You can bet on him, and every time. He was 
mighty good to me, — took me right into the family, 
like his own son.” 

“ When was that ? ” 

“ Oh, thirteen or fourteen years ago.” 

“ And did you stay there long ? ” 

“ A couple of months, I guess.” 

“ Yes,” said Filippa, reflectively. “ I remember 
your telling me something about it. But if he was 
so goo<l to you, why did you leave ? ” 

“ I forget.” 

Mrs. Zabarelli’s ears, as Stephen knew, were al- 
ways on the watch for something to his injury, and 
he had no intention, at least when she was present, 
of assisting in his own defeat. Her hostility was 
2t6 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

Open ; she made no concealment of her antipathy for 
this perilous lover. 

“ Mamma says she used to know him.^' 

'' No, I didn't say that,” said her mother. “ I 
only used to hear him preach occasionally. Hasn’t 
he some odd belief, or other? ” 

‘‘ I don’t know,” replied Steve. I forget about 
that.” 

Something about Girist not being dead and 
still going about the earth? ” 

** Oh, yes,” said Stephen, I remember. That 
was it, I think. Some folks thought he was a crank, 
but it was only in that business. He isn’t any 
fool.” 

Gracious, I should say not! ” exclaimed Filippa; 
“ he seems awfully wise.” 

“ He is,” said Stephen. 

The last house in the block, the one farthest to 
the east, an ordinary three-story dwelling, was pre- 
cisely like its score of neighbors, except in its pos- 
session of windows toward the river. It was now a 
boarding-house. 

I am afraid you’ll find the hall kinder dark, 
Mrs. Zabrell}^” said the landlady, who was stand- 
ing on the steps for a breath of air before retiring. 

It^s after eleven o’clock, and I thought you was 
home. I could ’a’ waited just as well.” 

217 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

**Oh, it doesn't matter. We know the stairs;” 
and giving the key to Filippa, she remained for a 
few words with Mrs. MacFarlane, while the 
younger people entered the house and began a cau- 
tious ascent of the unlighted stairs. Reaching the 
third and steepest flight, Filippa halted on the sec- 
ond step. 

** Sometimes this very last climb is really too 
much.” 

“ Then why don't you take the elevator ? '' de- 
manded Stephen, so close behind that he was almost 
touching her. 

Turning partly around and reaching toward his 
face, hardly visible in the darkness, she took hold of 
his chin. 

“What nonsense are you talking? What ele- 
vator ? '' 

“ This one.'' 

And he put one arm behind her knees, the other 
across her back, and before she realized his pur- 
pose, swung her high in the air, as lightly as if she 
were a doll. 

“ Oh, Stevey ! '' she whispered, “ put me down ! 
What would mamma say ? '' 

“ Nothing, because she'll never know'.'' 

“ How bad you are — and how strong ! ” 

“ What's the use of owning an elevator if you 
218 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

never use it ? ” And he carried her to the final land- 
ing, and without an effort. 

“ Well, here we are,*’ she said. ** Now let me 
down.** 

‘‘ But it’s fun to hold you.** 

“ No, you mustn’t, Stevey ! Besides, mamma will 
be coming in a minute.” 

‘‘ She hasn't started yet.” 

But you mustn’t ! Now, behave ! ” 

If you were in my place, would you obey? ” 
Of course I would ! ” 

Steve laughed. 

‘‘Oh, no, you wouldn’t, Filippa! You wouldn’t 
be such a fool. You wouldn’t drop the nicest girl 
in the world if you once had her like this.” 

Although too dark to see much, he knew she was 
smiling, or something very near it. As her face 
was drawn closer to his own, she laid a protesting 
hand across his mouth ; but against Stephen’s 
strength such an inconsiderable affair as Filippa’s 
hand was of no avail. 

Five minutes later, when Mrs. Zabarelli entered 
her parlor, she found Filippa arranging their very 
simple supper upon the table, while the bad young 
man stood innocently by the open window, from 
which he overlooked the avenue and the vacant lot, 
and could see across the river to Blackwell’s Island. 

2TQ 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

The parlor of the Zabarellis, although with two 
windows to the south and one to the east, would 
have been dingy and commonplace except for 
Filippa's love of color, inherited in all its fulness 
from her Neapolitan father. His portrait hung 
above the mantle. Occasional cushions, scarfs, and 
rugs of vivid but harmonious colors gave life and 
cheerfulness to an apartment whose other accessor- 
ies had reached a shabby senility. 

This nightly supper was a compromise. The 
young people after their evenings at the circus re- 
quired something in the way of food, and during 
the earlier days of their present alliance they had 
taken it at restaurants. But restaurant suppers 
were expensive, and the Zabarellis were poor. 
Stephen joyfully played the host, but Mrs. Zabarelli, 
unwilling to continue placing herself under obliga- 
tions to one whom she distrusted and opposed, in- 
sisted upon these banquets being served at home, — 
at least lifer own proportion of them. 

One of Filippa’s ambitions was to make these 
little reunions enjoyable, in spite of her mother’s 
presence, — which was a chilling influence to over- 
come, — and to-night the little chandelier in the cen- 
tre of the room above the supper table was blazing 
at its full capacity. Its full capacity was but four 
very ordinary burners, and the feast consisted 
220 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

merely of ham, potato salad, bread, butter, and 
cheese, with two bottles of lager beer. But to her- 
self and Stephen these were details of minor import- 
ance. And in spite of the inevitable results of her 
mother’s open hostility to the guest, they always 
enjoyed these little feasts. To-night, as usual, the 
meal passed cheerfully, and fulfilled its mission of 
keeping two people in each other’s presence for an 
additional hour. 

As they arose from the table, Mrs. Zabarelli went 
into the other room. Filippa, taking one of Ste- 
phen’s hands in both her own, said with a nod of 
approval as she examined it, — 

“ You are a good little boy to keep your promise. 
Your finger will soon be well again, I know.” 

** Very Kkely. But what do you think was inside 
the ring?” 

“ Was it hollow ? ” 

“ No, I mean written along it, on the under side.” 

I’m sure I don’t know. Some inscription from 
your mother to 3^our father?” 

** Oh, no! More mysterious than that.” 

Filippa with increasing interest, as if approaching 
some awful secret, whispered, — 

** Not from some other lady to your father! ” 

‘‘ No ; but you’d never guess. See for yourself ; 
and from a pocket he brought forth the ring, now 
221 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

severed and drawn wider open, and he laid it in her 
hand. She held it to the light and studied the in- 
scription. 

Why, Stevey! My initials! How curious! 
But it can’t be possible ! ” Then with a look of sus- 
picion she took a backward step and slowly shook 
her head. “ How simple I am ! But it’s very nice 
of you to give it to me. And it’s a good wish : * God 
Bless the Wearer.’ You did fool me, though, for a 
minute.” 

** What do you mean — fooling you ? I’m not 
fooling you, Filippa. You mean I had it written? 
No, I swear I didn’t ! That is just as the ring has 
always been ever since I’ve worn it, but I had for- 
gotten all about that writing. But I was goin’ to 
give it to you all the same, as soon as I saw those 
initials. It might bring you good luck. I wouldn’t 
give it to anybody else, though! You can bet on 

** I believe you, Stevey; ” and she laid a hand on 
his arm, looking up into his face with the smile that 
had stirred the Italian memories of Dr. Thorne and 
brought him confusion of Madonnas. This smile 
— and it was not uncommon — was unfailing in its 
effect upon Stephen; creating a desire for heroic 
deeds, — deeds requiring strength and amazing cour- 
age, or some gigantic sacrifice, to prove to her, once 
222 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

for all that he was hers, absolutely and for- 
ever. 

He took her gently by the shoulders, but before 
proceeding farther turned his eyes toward the 
chamber. It was well he did, for as he looked 
Mrs. Zabarelli was coming through the door- 
way. 

** What do you think, mother ! exclaimed 
Filippa, holding the ring toward her. “ What 
do you suppose it says inside this ring of Ste- 
phen’s ? ” 

‘‘ I don’t know, I am sure,” was indifferently an- 
swered, with a glance yet more indifferent in the di- 
rection of the lover, as he strolled toward the 
window after a sudden release of Filippa’s shoul- 
ders. 

“ But, really, mother, it’s most extraordinary. 
It has my initials, and they have been there all these 
years.” 

Her mother, with feeble interest and merely to 
gratify her daughter, took the ring, adjusting her 
glasses, and read aloud the inscription, — “ To 
F. W. Z. God bless the Wearer.” 

‘‘ Yes, that’s very curious,” she said, in a manner, 
however, that was disappointing from its unconcern. 

But, mother dear, don’t you think it a wonder- 
ful coincidence that somebody else should have my 
223 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

initials, which are so unusual, and that Steve should 
be wearing them all these years? ” 

Mrs. Zabarelli seemed not to hear. She had re- 
moved her glasses and closed her eyes, her thoughts 
drawn suddenly into the past by this once familiar 
legend. 

Turning about, she confronted the approaching 
Stephen. He halted in surprise at the sudden 
change in her expression. The careworn, anxious 
face was now ablaze with anger, the eyes dilated 
from an unwonted excitement, obviously beyond her 
own control. So swiftly was her arm extended that 
he took a backward step to avoid the quivering 
finger that pointed at his face. 

I remember you now ! It all comes back ! And 
those honest eyes ! For years I have been trying to 
place them. And you have the insolence, the brutal, 
brazen insolence, to come into my house. Leave it ! 
Leave it, and never enter it again! Murderer, rob- 
ber!’’ 

The color left Stephen’s face. He glanced at 
Filippa, who seemed bewildered by her mother’s 
language. In a low voice he asked : 

‘‘ What do you mean, Mrs. Zabarelli ? ” 

** What do I mean ! You know even better than 
I do what I mean ! And that ring with its inscrip- 
tion is a surprise to you ! ” 

224 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

And she laughed ; but the laughter was in irony, 
and so mirthless and unnatural that the listeners 
thought her reason was affected. 

‘‘ Oh, yes, you are surprised ! And I was sur- 
prised that day on Staten Island, fourteen years ago, 
when you came into my home and robbed me of all 
I owned. And my child and I have been in poverty 
ever since.” 

The ring, as she finished, slid from her trembling 
fingers, and rolled into the obscurity of a corner, its 
mission accomplished. 

“ But really, ma’am, I don’t know what you 
mean,” said Stephen earnestly, laying a hand upon 
his chest as in protestation of his innocence. 

More calmly she answered, but with bitter con- 
tempt, — 

Of course not ! But the denial is of precious 
little value coming from a man who can rob a help- 
less woman, and kill her child if necessary to ac- 
complish his purpose.” 

Steve, with changing color, stared intently at 
Madame Zabarelli in a despairing effort to under- 
stand her words. 

‘‘ Mother dear,” said Filippa, gently, “ there must 
be some mistake. You say fourteen years ago, and 
fourteen years ago Steve was only len years old. 
And this robber was a man. wasn’t he?'* 

22 \ 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

Her mother frowned, as in a confusing mental 
struggle, nervously brushing the hair from her tem- 
ples. 

** Don’t you see, mother dear, it couldn’t be Steve ? 
It was some entirely different person.” 

“ Then it was his father ! ” she exclaimed. ** Oh, 
I shall not forget that face ! Nor those lying eyes ! 
You have said yourself that ring was given you by 
your father. No child of mine shall associate with 
the son of such a parent. Never ! never ! never ! ” 
she repeated with increasing emphasis. Then, re- 
garding him with an infinite scorn, she demanded, — 
Is that clear ? ” 

Along his veins and through the tissues of his 
brain throbbed warnings of a hovering enemy, his 
mother’s rage; but he had confidence in his self- 
control. 

** Filippa,” he said gently, “ of course you don’t 
want to go against your mother, but you wouldn’t 
throw me over entirely, would you ? ” 

Before her daughter could reply, Mrs. Zabarelli 
again spoke out, — 

As my whole life has been a sacrifice for 
Filippa, I do not expect to be deserted at the first 
call of a stranger, and above all for a stranger of 
your antecedents ! ” 

Filippa, now summoned without warning to make 
226 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

the decision of her life, loving each and willing to 
make any sacrifice of herself for the good of either, 
turned entreatingly toward her mother. With both 
hands upon her arm, she began to speak. 

But Mrs. Zabarelli was not a woman to relin- 
quish victory when once achieved. She drew away 
her arm, and, ignoring Filippa, stepped nearer 
Stephen. 

“ That ring your father took from Filippa when 
he entered my house and robbed me, with a loaded 
pistol, of all the money I possessed. I have found 
since that he was a professional thief and murderer, 
a sharper, a blackleg, a common criminal, with no 
pretensions to decency or honor. And you, the im- 
age of him, his own true son in soul and body, I 
have seen through ever since you joined us. Your 
lying eyes have never fooled me. And your brutal, 
murdering temper is the temper of a — ” 

But Stephen heard no more, and he heard but 
dimly the last few words as they rent the barriers 
of his rage. A flood of fury, hot, blinding and re- 
sistless, surged like a bursting torrent through his 
brain. His eyes saw, but they told him nothing. 
They only showed him the hostile face before him, 
and he struck madly out. It was a blow to kill, if 
kill he could. 

At the transformation in his face Filippa flung 
227 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 


herself before her iTwther. Upon her upturned 
chin she met his fist, then sank upon the carpet, 
limp and motionless. 

The arm drew back for another blow, but as he 
advanced to launch it, striking with his foot the 
form upon the floor, the wildfire flickered in his 
brain, then died away as suddenly as it came. He 
stopped, staggered backwards, and drew a hand 
across his eyes as if to hasten his returning reason. 
The mother’s terror-stricken eyes moved from 
Stephen to the figure at her feet; she stooped, and 
with her feeble strength endeavored to raise her 
daughter from the floor. 

To his horror Steve saw Filippa’s head sink back, 
an unresponsive weight. Her face, except the pur- 
ple bruise upon her chin, had a lifeless pallor. Be- 
side her, upon his knees, he also dropped, exclaim- 
ing in a voice of agony, — 

“ Oh, my God ! my God ! ” 

“ Take her to the bed,” said Mrs. Zabarelli, for- 
getting all except her daughter’s danger. 

Carefully he rose to his feet, the burden in his 
arms; and as he followed Mrs. Zabarelli into the 
chamber, he turned the girl’s cheek against his own 
and muttered an incoherent appeal. Gently upon 
the bed he laid her, while the mother & hands ar- 
ranged a pilloMC 

T2? 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

** Now run for a doctor ! ” she exclaimed, 
** Quick ! quick, and don’t lose a second ! ” 

He was off, as the words were uttered, down 
the dark stairs in reckless leaps, out into the 
silent street, leaving the door wide open behind 
him. 

He remembered a doctor’s sign half-way along 
the block, and up the steps of that house he sprang 
and pulled the bell. All the inmates were abed, 
for it was after midnight. He rang again and 
again, and it seemed hours before the door was 
opened. 

I want to see the doctor, quick ! ” 

‘‘ Dr. Hasselmann is out.” 

‘‘ Out ! How soon will he be back? 

** Oh, he might return in ten minutes and it might 
not be for an hour or two.” 

Isn’t there another doctor near? ” 

'‘Yes, sir; at No. 65, about the middle of the 
next block. 

In another minute Stephen was ringing the bell 
at No. 65, and with better luck. 

This doctor, an elderly, gray-haired man, hur- 
ried on under the young man’s guidance, asking 
certain questions concerning the nature of the acci- 
dent. Steve told him all, only omitting that the 
“accidental blow” had been aimed at another 
229 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 


woman. Up the dark stairs he led the way, and 
when they entered the Zabarelli parlor the physi- 
cian was somewhat out of breath. 

He passed at once to the chamber, and bent over 
Filippa. 

When he looked up, first at the mother and then 
at Stephen, his kind, serious face told them, before 
a word was uttered, that all was over. He said 
something about death having been instantaneous, 
and spoke of concussion of the brain. Mrs. Zaba- 
relli, who had suspected the truth, seemed dazed by 
grief. Mechanically she seated herself in a little 
chair by the bed, and began to rock. 

With dry lips and a husky voice Steve asked if 
nothing could be done, if there was no possibility 
of this condition being only temporary. 

“ Surely there must be some way to bring her 
back, doctor ! he whispered. ** You don’t mean 
she’s dead — gone forever ! ” 

The man of science laid a hand gently upon his 
shoulder. 

“ Yes, but nothing could have been done to save 
her. Life was, perhaps, extinct before you left the 
house.” 

And with a few words to the mother he de- 
parted. 

Long afterwards Stephen, as in a hideous trance, 
230 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 


Stood motionless by Filippa’s bed. He shed no 
tears. There were no outward signs of grief. 

At last, turning slowly about, he walked into the 
parlor. For completer solitude he turned out the 
gas, and threw himself upon the floor, his face 
buried in his hands. 


231 




XII 

W HEN Stephen raised his head, a faint* 
cold light had crept into the room. 
He shuddered, for the light of day was 
not for such as he. There were things too cowardly 
and too vile to face the glare of heaven. Climb- 
ing slowly to his feet, he approached the open 
window. 

With a kind of terror he regarded the colorless 
radiance in the east spreading slowly upward into 
the starlit sky. It seemed to his shrinking gaze like 
something sent to hunt him; something that would 
overtake him if he lingered. Pure and calm, it 
flickered along the surface of the river, and the 
river brought a welcome thought. Beneath the 
waters there was peace. No lingering here, no 
sacrifice within his power, could bring back Filippa, 
or palliate the unutterable crime. But there, at least, 
was oblivion. 

For a last look upon what had been dearer to him 
than all the world — for whose life he would cheer- 
fully have given up his own — ^he moved toward the 
232 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

chamber. But in the doorway, as his eyes encoun- 
tered Mrs. Zabarelli gently rocking, just as he had 
left her long hours ago, he halted. Was her reason 
gone? Had he killed two women with a single 
blow ? When he stood before her and spoke her 
name, she ceased rocking and looked up, But in 
her face came no look of recognition. After a 
questioning glance she lowered her eyes and con- 
tinued rocking. 

Mechanically he turned out the light. Moving to 
the foot of the bed, he looked down on the silent 
figure, now doubly solemn in the ghostly light that 
entered from the eastern windows. 

There seemed in this frigid radiance, as it lay 
upon Filippa’s face, something spiritual and un- 
earthly, as from another world. Standing at her 
feet, he recalled, with another pang of remorse — 
such as had been burning into his brain through 
the hours of night — her unwavering confidence in 
himself, her readiness to swing from any height 
if only he were there to catch her, her persistence in 
taking upon herself all blame when it would place 
him in a better light before her mother, her cheer- 
fulness, her loyalty, and her courage. And before 
his dry, hot eyes, the bed, the woman rocking by its 
side, and the room itself began slowly to revolve 
in widening, swifter circles. His brain also seemed 

233 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

to float away. Staggering backwards, he sank into 
a chair. 

But the dizziness soon passed. Dropping upon 
his knees at the foot of the bed, he bent forward 
and reverently touched his lips to the sole of one of 
Filippa’s shoes. Then he climbed to his feet, and 
after a parting look at the stricken mother still 
rocking to and fro, unconscious of his presence, he 
turned and left the room. 

Down the dark stairs, out into the street, where 
the lights from lamp-posts glimmered yellow and 
useless in the advancing dawn, he kept his course 
with outward calmness. 

Nearing the avenue, he halted in surprise as he 
recognized an approaching figure. Too well he 
knew the walk and the ponderous, familiar form to 
be mistaken. He also knew that Dr. Thorne 
must be returning from some errand of mercy, 
and instinctively he contrasted it with his own 
black deed. His first impulse was to cross the 
street; but his old friend had already recognized 
him. 

“ Why, Stephen, what's the matter ? " 

The tone of alarm was involuntary, as the face 
before him was that of an older man than the 
Stephen Wadsworth of the afternoon before. Dark 
hollows beneath the eyes; a tension of the lips, the 

234 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

pallor, and the whole expression told plainly of a 
conquering sorrow. 

The murderer shrank within himself as he en- 
countered the anxious, friendly scrutiny. Even the 
voice was not his own in which he answered, — 

“ An accident to Filippa.’' 

“ Oh, I am sorry — sorry! What is it? How did 
it happen ? ’’ 

Stephen looked away, but his face told the in- 
ward agony which choked his speech. 

“Is there nothing I can do?” continued his 
friend. “ Cannot I go there, and be of service? ” 

“ Will you? ” exclaimed Stephen. “ Will you go 
there ? ” and he pointed to the house. “ That first 
door on the right ; it is open. They are at the very 
top, on the front. Will you really go there? ” 

“Certainly, of course I will! And you return 
soon, I suppose ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

They parted, and Stephen felt, as from a knife, a 
sharp regret that his final word to such a friend 
should be a lie. But what mattered a lie after a 
deed like his ! When Dr. Thorne should find 
Filippa had been murdered, and by him, his con- 
tempt and loathing would be far beyond the influ- 
ence of lies — or of all ordinary human sins. 

With heavy, unobservant eyes, and lips com- 

235 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 


pressed, he strode across the vacant lot toward the 
wharf. This piece of ground, between the Avenue 
and the East River, about the size of an average 
city block, was of uneven surface, and at present 
served merely as a playground for the children of 
the neighborhood. He followed the wagon track 
that led across it to the wharf. 

Reaching out into the river about an hundred 
feet, this wharf, but little used, bore a deserted, 
somewhat melancholy aspect. Alongside lay a soli- 
tary craft, a heavy schooner, close against the land. 
Her cargo of paving-stones, partially unloaded, was 
scattered along the pier. 

Out upon the wharf, about a third its length, he 
had walked with firm and even steps, when he 
stopped and turned about. The sleeping city be- 
fore him showed no signs of life, save the steam 
and rattle from a distant train upon the elevated 
road, and a mail-wagon as it disappeared around a 
neighboring corner. 

In the slowly brightening sky above the window 
of the room in which Filippa lay, a group of stars 
still glittered through the spreading light. The 
window was open, as he had left it. With his eyes 
upon this window, he moved his lips responsive to 
something in his soul akin to prayer ; but the prayer 
was not for himself. He closed his eyes, raised his 
236 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

face toward the sky, and drew a long, deep breath 
which ended in a gasp. 

As he turned about and took a forward step 
along the wharf, he halted in surprise as seeing the 
figure of a man not a dozen feet away. He opened 
wide his eyes, then closed them, believing it a vision 
of his feverish brain. One moment ago no human 
being was in sight. 

The figure approached, and even now, in the un- 
certain light, he half doubted its reality. To his 
weary eyes it mysteriously blended with the radi- 
ance behind, the expanding, many-tinted splendor 
announcing the dawn of day. 

Coming close to Stephen, the man stood before 
him. He was young, but little over thirty, and 
tall, with a slight stoop about the shoulders. From 
his simple, somewhat ordinary clothes, Stephen 
judged him to be a master mechanic, — a mason per- 
haps, or a carpenter. But the face was less usual. 
The features were regular, the eyes a dark blue, and 
singularly gentle and expressive. A brown beard 
grew in two points from the chin. 

Reaching forth a hand, he rested it on the mur- 
derer’s shoulder, — 

“ Life is yet before you, Stephen. You have 
made a good fight, but your burden was beyond 
your strength.” 


237 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

And as the compassionate eyes were fixed upon 
his own, Steve experienced a new sensation. 

It might have been a form of personal magnet- 
ism, or mayhap this stranger possessed the power 
of imparting to those with whom he came in con- 
tact a portion of his own nature ; but whatever the 
cause, Steve realized within himself the birth of a 
new hope, of a new and different kind of courage. 
Moreover, he was indefinably impressed by some- 
thing in the expression, and in the voice and man- 
ner, of this unexpected friend; by a certain gentle- 
ness and thoughtful gravity that suggested a wider 
experience than his apparent age would justify. 

Such was his influence, that Stephen, after a very 
few words of encouragement, was walking by his 
side across the vacant lot, then along the street 
toward the Zabarellis. 

The stranger entered the house as if familiar with 
it and mounted to the upper floor. 

Without knocking he turned the knob of Mrs. 
Zabarelli’s parlor, and went in. His hat, of soft 
black felt, of common shape, he laid upon a table 
near the door. Stephen followed, close behind ; and 
he noticed that Dr. Thorne, who was talking with 
Mrs. Zabarelli near the window, took a step or two 
forward when he saw the stranger, a look of pleas- 
ure and recognition upon his face. His greeting 
238 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

was returned, which caused Stephen to believe that 
they already knew each other. And it also ap- 
peared, from the deference with which Dr. Thorne 
addressed him — Dr. Thorne being much the older 
of the two — that he might be a person of more im- 
portance than his attire betrayed. But he lingered 
for a moment only, then passed on into the cham- 
ber. 

The others followed. The little chamber was all 
aglow with rosy light, from the crimson sun just 
showing above the trees beyond the river. And on 
the opposite wall stood purple shadows of the anx- 
ious group. 

Is there any hope?'’ demanded Mrs. Zabarelli 
in a tremulous voice, with an appealing glance to 
the stranger. “ Can you do anything for her, doc- 
tor ? Oh, it’s too late ! too late ! I know it’s too 
late!” 

Making no reply, but seating himself upon the 
bed beside Filippa, he drew a hand across her fore- 
head, gently, as if smoothing her hair, and uttered, 
in a low voice, words not understood by those about 
him. 

So great was Stephen’s confidence in this man, 
strengthened by the knowledge that certain trances 
had frequently been mistaken for death itself, that 
he was not amazed by what now occurred. 

239 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

The color came creeping back into Filippa^s face ; 
her bosom rose, responsive to a long, deep breath, 
as if awakening from a sleep; her eyelids moved, 
then slowly opened, and she looked about. 

Blinking, as one not fully awake, she looked up 
at the face above her, now illumined by the light 
through the eastern window — a rosy, supernal light 
that seemed to enfold him with a glorifying touch. 

** Why, what has happened ? ” 

Then, with a glance at those about, she added, — 

“ Oh yes, I remember ! ” 

And seeking Stephen with her eyes, she filled his 
soul with an infinite joy. The look was a message 
that told of more than forgiveness. In the flood of 
feelings that overwhelmed him, his face, haggard 
and sensitive, spoke plainly of his gratitude. And 
then it was that his eyes met those of the stranger, 
who smiled — a simple, brotherly smile, so express- 
ive of fellow feeling and encouragement that it 
created in Stephen a warmer sentiment toward 
him; a sudden affection hitherto forbidden, prob- 
ably without intent, by the man's gravity and re- 
serve. 

Mrs. Zabarelli had stood by the bed in breath- 
less anxiety, apparently unable to accept the evi- 
dence of her senses. But when her daughter, with 
the stranger's aid, arose and stood upon her feet, 
240 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 


she convulsively embraced her and wept aloud from 
excess of joy. 

‘‘Why, it’s like coming to life again, Filippa! 
We thought you were dead! ” 

She stroked her hair and patted her cheeks, cry- 
ing and laughing by turns. 

She soon recovered, however, and, turning to 
Filippa’s rescuer, who was replying to some ques- 
tion of Dr. Thorne’s, she said with earnestness,, — 
“ How can I thank you, sir! You have given me 
back my daughter. Is there nothing I can do to 
prove my gratitude ? ” 

Indicating Stephen by a gesture, he answered, — 
“ Yes, by giving your daughter to this man. 
Henceforth he shall be worthy of your confidence.” 

Mrs. Zabarelli frowned and was about to protest 
But as she looked searchingly into the stranger’s 
face, a closer study may have brought a fuller trust, 
or she also may have yielded, like the others, to 
some indefinable personal influence. However, 
after a questioning glance at Dr. Thorne, who 
bowed his head in emphatic approval, and a look at 
Stephen, whose face bore a gentler expression since 
the night before, she answered, — 

“ I will do it.” 

At this consent, so long desired, so unexpected 
nrhet if 4amc the incredulous lovers looked in-- 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

stinctively into each other’s eyes for further confir- 
mation of tidings too good to be believed. Filippa 
turned impulsively and kissed her mother. 

With a parting word the stranger moved toward 
the door. Stephen grasped him by the hand, and 
exclaimed with feeling, — 

And for myself, too, I don’t know how to thank 
you ! I shall be all right after this. I know it. I 
— I didn’t deserve such help.” 

Returning the pressure and looking kindly into 
the lover’s eyes, the man replied, — 

Have no fear. You will be master of yourself.” 

And he departed. 

Dr. Thorne with the grateful mother followed 
him to the parlor door, but a warmer interest drew 
Stephen back into the chamber. Approaching the 
girl whose good opinion he felt he had no right to 
claim, he said in a low voice, — > 

** I don’t see how you stand by me, Filippa. 
Throw me over and I won’t say a word.” 

She came nearer and stood close against him. 
Drawing both hands gently across his cheeks as if 
to smooth away all trace of suffering, she smiled 
and looked up into his face. 

** Stevey darling, no matter how bad you are, or 
whatever you may do, I forgive you now, in ad- 
vance.” 


242 


Dr Thorne’s Idea 

At the next performance, Monday afternoon, 
Stephen and Filippa ran out into the arena as usual, 
were hoisted to the upper air, and there, aloft, upon 
the high trapeze, they excited the wonder of the 
audience. 

At the right moment, when Filippa, alone and 
hanging by her hands, had acquired a long, appall- 
ing swing, the music ceased. 

Then, in a silence so profound that nothing was 
heard except the creaking of the iron rings that 
held the two trapezes to the trusses of the roof, she 
let go her hold and sailed away. Among the thou- 
sands of upturned faces there were some that grew 
a trifle paler. And no one breathed. 

Steve, head downward, hanging by his knees 
from the other trapeze, came soaring up in that di- 
rection, as usual, in the very nick of time, and, as 
usual, cool-headed and with strength to spare. He 
clutched the outstretched hands. Tlie music burst 
madly forth, rejoicing, triumphant; Filippa clam- 
bered to the bar above, and Stephen followed. 

To and fro they swung, a fearful distance, 
showering kisses to the applauding multitude below. 

Both were breathing fast. As they started on a 
forward journey like birds above a field of human 
faces, Filippa’s hair flying backward from her tem- 
ples, the artificial rose a-flutter, Steve turned and 

243 


Dr Thome’s Idea 

looked into the eyes beside him. There was too 
much noise up there for conversation, but no words 
were needed. The short glance into each other’s 
faces revealed all they had to say, — not all, of 
course, but the most important. Her answering 
smile told the simple story of an unalterable trust. 

And perhaps Stephen made no mistake in believ- 
ing himself the happiest man in that vast enclosure 
— or in the world. 


244 




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